


One Night with the King - a Fan Sequel

by Alwida



Category: Thor (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, Drama, Dubcon/noncon situations, Execution, Humor, Implied Future Mpreg, Intersex Loki, Jötunn Loki, Learning to be a good king and husband Thor, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Marriage, Multi, Murder, Not evil just mean sometimes Loki, Odin and Frigga are actually kind of good parents, Racism, Romance, Sexism/misogyny, Talk of genocide, Treason, Violence, Virginity, War, a kind of imprisonment, aftermath of war, attempted genocide, secondary character death
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-25
Updated: 2019-05-23
Packaged: 2019-05-28 14:34:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 11
Words: 73,964
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15051278
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alwida/pseuds/Alwida
Summary: Some time ago I discovered Thorki and totally fell for it. I absorbed one fanfiction after the other, finally discovering the wonderful, addictive “One night with the King”.  Like many others I fell in love with the story, only to realize the last update was summer 2014.Soooo, I started writing this fan-sequel to her story. I’d recommend to read her story before starting this, because this one picks up after her chapter 21, thus skipping all character-introduction, world-building and story development she already provided. UPDATE: Coma_grey updated again!!!! So for everyone who read her story and don't remeber what happend in chapter 21 - my version picks up after the nightly meeting in the stables.My English is far from perfection and just soooo bad in comparison to coma_grey’s (who is probably a native speaker, which I am not…), so cut me some slack, will you?I appreciate constructive criticism, but feel quiet insecure about posting this here. So if you don’t like it, please do not word comments harshly. Thanks to my beta @ensignanna for helping me. You can find her Tumblrhere!





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [One Night with the King](https://archiveofourown.org/works/830850) by [coma_grey](https://archiveofourown.org/users/coma_grey/pseuds/coma_grey). 



> Some time ago I discovered Thorki and totally fell for it. I absorbed one fanfiction after the other, finally discovering the wonderful, addictive “One night with the King”. Like many others I fell in love with the story, only to realize the last update was summer 2014.
> 
> Soooo, I started writing this fan-sequel to her story. I’d recommend to read her story before starting this, because this one picks up after her chapter 21, thus skipping all character-introduction, world-building and story development she already provided. UPDATE: Coma_grey updated again!!!! So for everyone who read her story and don't remeber what happend in chapter 21 - my version picks up after the nightly meeting in the stables. 
> 
> My English is far from perfection and just soooo bad in comparison to coma_grey’s (who is probably a native speaker, which I am not…), so cut me some slack, will you? 
> 
> I appreciate constructive criticism, but feel quiet insecure about posting this here. So if you don’t like it, please do not word comments harshly. Thanks to my beta @ensignanna for helping me. You can find her Tumblr [here](https://ensignanna.tumblr.com/)!

The whole situation is unbearable. 

As the sun sets over the mountains beside the city, Thor stands at his balcony enjoying the view. Yet his eyes burn of fatigue. 

Two weeks have passed since that night in the stable already felt like months. The image of Loki’s lean figure draped in wet, flimsy clothing tortures him, and keeps him awake during the nights. 

When he lays in the dark, re-imagining the scene, the fantasy is given room to spawn new details to further deepen his desire. Details like the sole raindrop running down Loki’s neck, all the way over his seductive collarbone, teasing, only to disappear under the collar of the shirt. Loki’s eyes, wide; his lashes wet when he gasps and pulls back. And the slight shiver Thor felt when he wrapped the cape around Loki’s slim shoulders. 

Yet he is unable - or better - unwilling to push the fantasies away to get some sleep, and therefore rises more tired than every morning before. 

Whereas the days before the midsummer feast had been filled with endless rows of petitioners quarreling over property, privileges or priorities. They had seemed to stretch infinitely. He felt as if he had listened to every possible dispute at least a dozen times. More self-control is needed of him in this halls than he has ever had on the battlefield if he is to stay wake during the hearings. 

Thor curses and gulps down a swig of strong mead. A slight breeze whips around his bare chest as he leans against the balustrade. About four months left, then his vow of celibacy will be fulfilled. 

And he will be finally free to satisfy his carnal desire. 

A lecherous smile plays for an instant around the corners of his mouth. He shakes the pleasing thought off, throwing the horn to the floor with an angry groan. He has to concentrate. Four months were much too long to spend pining and dreaming. Now was the time to pin the traitors in his ranks. The first guard had mentioned they already knew about Loki. It might be wise to enforce the security of the harem for the time of the feast. Just to be sure. 

Warily, he eyes the palace grounds. The last rays of sun shine in the small puddle of ale left by the tossed tankard. The Prince of Thunder scowls and turns to his berth, foreseeing another night filled with exhausting dreams. 

* * *

Loki wakes flustered _and_ excited. 

The king himself had implied a sort of ‘sexual attraction’ to Loki. For the first time ever he had dared thinking he actually might become his queen. All he needed to do is to deepen the impression he already left on the king. Giggling, Loki grabs his pillow and hugs it fiercely. 

And besides the implication and all the excitement it brought, it had felt so good to see Svad again! Even despite the short night, the coldness of his limbs and the altogether infuriating manner of King Thor. Even if it included a reminder of the handprint and him staring at Loki’s drenched clothing. Loki’s cheeks flush by the memory of his lewd gaze but the flutter in his stomach grows even stronger. 

Unable to remain idle, he bobs up and hurries to get over with his morning routine. None of the girls are up yet, so he makes extensive use of his time for breakfast before retreating to the garden for reading while the others eat. 

Only when they all gather to listen to Balder’s announcements for the day does Loki remember that nobody talks to him anymore. His joy deflates. 

With a smile on his shapely face, Balder lets his gaze wander over them. “After today’s exercise in posture, we all are in for a special treat! Lady Freyja grants us the honor of a visit. She wishes to inspect all of you and your potential for the throne, and even more to King Thor to whom she is close.” Nervous gasps escape several of the girls. Loki gulps. 

Amusement sparkles in his eyes. “Fear not, for she is known to be kind-hearted and seldom frowns upon. You will be given an extra hour before the meal to dress up and prepare accordingly. She might even tell the King of any good impression you make.” 

When her arrival is finally upon them, Loki finds himself surprisingly exited. One would thought that after meeting the king several times now a mere companion of his should not be as challenging; yet it is known how fond the king is of Freyja. 

Lady Freyja has barely entered the harem when Glut and her tedious friends encircle her, smiling, babbling and batting their lashes at her. Even Amora joins the constantly growing group, yet scowling shortly before forcing a smile on her lips. 

Loki snorts. This is ridiculous. Rolling his eyes, he leaves for the kitchen to grab an apple. 

He is surprised to find Sigyn there, sitting slumped on a chair, eyes watery. As she notices him, she presses her lips together and glares at him, a single tear rolling down her cheek. As if it would be his fault they were not talking anymore. 

Annoyed, Loki sneers, “Shouldn’t you be out there with everyone else?!“ 

With a raw sob she breaks into tears and runs out of the room, soon followed by the sound of a door thrown shut. Surly, Loki proceeds to the garden and sits beneath a tree, eating his apple and trying to center his thoughts on better subjects, like his meeting with the king. Yet he finds himself drifting back to his anger. 

A sudden shout yanks him back to reality. Lorelei bounces towards him, shortly followed by Freyja herself and a group of four or five other girls. 

“And here he is! My lady Freyja, may I introduce to you – our famous as well as infamous Loki!” 

Freyja’s eyes sparkle with interest and humor as she approaches him. Loki feels heat rising in his cheeks and shoots a glare at Lorelei who giggles and sits beside him on the grass. She is obviously eager to witness the meeting from the first row. 

“Greetings, Loki,” Freyja says with a smile. “How comes I have to ask to be brought to you? Did you not want to greet me, like your peers did?” 

Loki gulps. “I wanted! But …” He thinks franticly for an explanation courteous enough to make him look more gallant than his fellows. “I realized how cornered the others had you and didn’t want to add to the pressure. Beside that I do not begrudge the others your precious attention. I knew you would surely find time for everyone, and simply decided to wait my turn.” 

An amused smile appears on Freyja’s lips. “I see. So here I am, to get my impression. You look …” her gaze wanders over his body, pausing briefly on his wrists, and Loki feels his blush intensify. “… beautiful. Stunning. Your words imply you are modest, even well-behaved. How peculiar, after all I have heard about your fondness for mischief.” 

Lorelei sniggers beside him. Loki gives her an annoyed look. “What?! Who said that?“ 

“The King,” she answers innocently. Hurt grips Loki’s heart and a sudden silence falls on the girls around them. Loki barely manages to breathe a faint “… what?” before Freyja bursts in sudden laughter and settles down beside him. “I am jesting! Balder might have mentioned one or two incidents.” She winks at him and the girls start chuckling. 

Her eyes wander over him and a thoughtful expression replaces her grin. “So tell me, Loki. Why do you want to become queen?” Loki tenses unwillingly. Yet judging by the unaffected looks of the other youth around them, he isn’t the first one to be asked this question. 

He snorts. “Who says I do? “ 

An amused smile flickers over Freyja’s face. “Well, if you did, what would be your reasons?” 

He rolls his eyes and shrugs. “Life as queen is the best there is, isn’t it? Days filled with wishes servants fulfill, spoiling and pampering you, and all you have to do is to please the king. Who wouldn’t dream about it?” 

Freyja frowns at him. “No, that’s not it. Not for you, at least. Try again. “

Loki gives her a frown. “What for since you don’t believe me, anyway?” 

She answers with a playful hurt expression. “Oh dear - I certainly will, as soon it reflects what I see in you.” 

The Lorelei leans forward and one of the girls – Rán, Loki recalls – draws a sharp breath in. “So it is true?” Rán asks softly. “You are a seeress, too?” Loki feels his cheeks pale. This was bad! If Freyja was indeed a seeress, she could expose him in no time. 

“Oh no,” Freya chuckles. “This gift I neither have nor want. Yet I can see if something doesn’t add up. And of course Queen Frigga is, so I might just ask her for insight.” She musters him and Loki forces his muscles to loosen up again. He doesn’t want the others to not notice his tension, and racks his brain for an answer convincing enough to make Freya stop this interrogation. He wanted to help his people, of course. With a faint feeling of sickness he remembers the lessons about Jotunheim and the terrible comments from the other youth. 

“All right! Fine. There are certain habits in Asgard I would like to get rid of. Common prejudices for one thing.” 

Freyja eyes him a second longer and her gaze softens. “Well, I shall settle for that, for now.” 

Beside him, Lorelei fidgets with excitement. “So, my part’s done! Will I get my wish now?”  
Freyja straightens gracefully and nods. “What do you wish for?” Lorelei’s smile grows cunning. “I want Skadi and Balder to teach us about sex as soon as possible!” The girls around Freyja blush fiercely, but she only chuckles. “Very well. I shall do what is possible.” 

Loki gulps and heat rises in his cheeks. It was barely eight months since they were gathered into the harem of the king. Even due to the original timetable only two month were left until he would be forced to listen to sex-talks involving the king! And now this little time should be shortened further? 

He squirms and curses his vivid fantasy. A memory of muscular arms holding him firmly against the King’s chest runs through his mind and makes his stomach flutter. He curses Lorelei for reducing his grace period even further. 

* * *

 

The delicious smell of roasted piglets, pheasants and mutton as well as laughter and songs drift through the halls as the midsummer feast is celebrated. It has been the second highest celebration for eons, but since the war against the frost giants it has become even more important, it serves not only as a reminder of the pleasures of summer but as well as a victory celebration. Fires are lit in the palace gardens and the banqueting hall is decorated with flowers. 

The hall itself nearly bursts with boisterous festivity, and Thor contributes as intensely as possible to the noise of singing, shouting and cheering. Laughing away the astonished looks of Sif and Hogun, he gulps down one tankard of mead after another, boasting and jesting. He even brings himself to dance with one of the maidens. 

While giving his best impression of heedless self-indulgence, he is hoping desperately that Njord and Vinar are taking his bait. Sadly he won’t be able to witness their plotting himself, but Heimdall is watching them, and just to be entirely sure Hogun had promised to keep an eye on both as well. Which leaves distraction part – the boring part as he thinks – to Thor. 

The only positive aspect is Freyja decided to extend her stay to join the feast. Thor wonders what part she might enjoy about it, since she does not seem to enjoy drinking or eating meat. Yet the answer quickly becomes obvious when the dancing starts and she leaves their table to never return to it this eve. Thor smiles watching her dance, exhausting one lad after the other and still not tiring herself. 

Of the warriors three, only Hogun is informed about his plan, and even he only knows about Thor being suspicious of his advisors but with no further details – as if there were any to share yet. But in case of success, if Njord or Vinar leave the feast early, his chances to slip out of the hall unnoticed will be much higher than Thor’s. And he has the invaluable trait of being able to keep his mouth shut about these things. 

In front of the banquet table, Fandral is fencing a cocky young lad, each having their left arms coiled around a maiden squealing with scare or pleasure whenever whirled around by one of the combatants. Cheering, Thor is dropping his tankard to the table when he spots Vinar rising from the table and quietly moving through the crowd. Instantly his eyes are drawn to Njord, who is placed closer to the head of the table. 

But Njord holds on feasting and chatting, seemingly in no intention of leaving. Doubts rise in Thor’s mind. Blushing, he remembers Loki’s disbelief as he told him about the confrontation. Njord suspecting Thor to be on his heels was bad enough, but the thought admitting this to Loki and thus proving him right makes Thor huff in anger and humiliation. 

Frowning, he turns to Hogun, but finds his place empty. He takes another swig of mead. 

* * *

 

Faint sounds of the feast ring over to the harem till late in the night. Still agitated, Loki lays wide awake and stares at the ceiling. There had been rumors about Frigga being a seeress, but they had never sounded quiet believable. She certainly did not prevent Thor’s divorce or the actions which led to it; yet it had been her advice to include intersexed males in the competition for the new queen. 

But she surely wouldn’t if she had known about Loki’s heritage, so he was safe for now. He lets out a deep breath. Encounters with Thor’s next queen and Queen Frigga will be no rarity, so he has to figure out how to evade her foresight. If only he could use his seidr! But currently there is nothing he could do about it. 

The faint sound of crying comes from the next room, and Loki has heard it often enough to recognize it as Sigyn’s. He expects to feel his anger rise again, but there is nothing but sadness in him now. Whatever Amora told her, it must have been horrible for her to abandon Loki so entirely. Yet he wasn’t the only one left without friends because of this. Despite knowing better, he rises. 

Sigyn lays curled up in her bed, completely covered by a blanket from which occasional sobs emerge. Loki searches for words, yet nothing seems good, so instead he sits silently on the edge. He feels Sigyn tense and silence falls. She peers at him from the slit under the blanket. First her eyes widen, but then they fill with tears and anger and she rolls over, turning her back on him. 

Loki huffs. “What did she tell you? It can’t be only that I started competing, judging by your attitude.” 

Only the sounds of angry sobs answer him. 

“Honestly – what is your problem? As long as you hate me, we are both on our own in this snake pit. This can’t be what you want!” 

She wheels around and Loki recoils from her murderous glare. “What _I_ want? WHAT I WANT?” She hisses. “I get nothing I ever want! I didn’t want to be here, I don’t want to marry any king and I never want to return to my family. There is no way out of this where I get what I want.” 

He gulps. “Yes, I know. I am sorry.“ He looks down and continues, “But it has always been like this. What changed?“ 

She breaks down wailing again, wiping her tears with the back of her hands. Hesitant, he rubs her back, but it only makes her cry harder. He thinks about leaving when she finally calms down, exhausted. After a few seconds she whispers “You did.” He frowns, but before he can ask, she proceeds. “I thought you understood, you were like me. But now…” her voice drips of resentment, “… you want this _oaf_ to desire… no, to take you!” 

Loki’s stomach cramps as the image floats through his mind and he squirms. “Would you not say it like this?” He shudders. “And anyway – that has nothing to do with you. It even could be a chance for you to avoid both - returning home and marrying the king – by becoming my handmaiden. This should be a good thing for you.” 

She gives him a murderous glare and sneers scornfully, “So I can sit beside you watching him prance around you, touching and fucking you whenever he likes? Oh, what a wonderful life that would be!” Loki cringes and feels heat rising in his cheeks. It takes him a moment to realize the deeper meaning of her words. When he does, his eyes widen. “You… are you jealous??

He turns to her and sees her face freeze in fright. She tries to turn away, but he quickly grabs her shoulders. She clasps her hands before her face, trembling and crying silently. He lets her shoulders go awkwardly and thinks what he could possibly say. 

Not much comes into mind. That she would never like him if she truly knew what he was? That they could never be together, because even if he wouldn’t become the next queen, he would have to leave to help the royalty of another realm? Yeah, that would never _not_ sound like a ridiculous excuse. 

The feeling of being watched makes him look up and realize Sigyn is staring at him with pleading eyes. He lowers his gaze, but takes her hand. “I am sorry. “ She lets out a pained whimper, and he peeks into her eyes. “I like you… but not … not like that. I really miss you as a friend though.” She wails softly, turning away from him, again curling up at the top of the bed. 

With an odd sense of guild Loki rises quietly, leaving her alone. 

* * *

 

Shortly after dawn Thor rides towards the Bifrost. He is eager to hear of the traitors’ actions, but Heimdall meets his gaze with a stern expression which adds to Thor’s slight headache. 

“My king,” Heimdall greets him. 

“What did you see?” Thor asks impatiently. 

“Vinar left the feast around midnight. He left the palace and met with another near the forest. The other one must have been a sorcerer. As they entered the forest they became hidden from my view.“ 

Thor grits his teeth. “What kind of sorcery can do such thing? Was it Asgardian?” 

“I am no sorcerer, your majesty,” Heimdall replies. “But I have seen Hogun following them and passing through the forest to the mountainside. He awaits you in the training courtyard this moment.” 

Thor nods, granting Heimdall a slight smile. “Then I will ask him. Thank you.” He departs, his mood sinking even further. He worries not for the spell performed by an unknowing underling, but a sorcerer strong enough to hide the traitors from Heimdall’s eyes. It seems the conspirators are assembling their higher skilled contributors. 

Hogun stands beside the training grounds watching two young lads chase each other with blunt swords. The grounds are empty except some servants cleaning up the ashes of the fires and taking down faded flowers. The morning is still young and these few are probably the only ones not hung over from the feast the night before. 

Thor’s smile fades as Hogun, too, receives him with a grave face. “Don’t tell me, you lost them, too,” he groans. Hogun presses his lips to a thin line. “I fear so. I were able to follow them to a narrow gorge at the mountainside, but when I entered it was empty. I searched for another exit, but there was none.” 

Thor expires wearily. “One of them must have been a sorcerer. Could they have noticed you? Perhaps it was a deception.” 

Hogun frowns. “I don’t think so. I was cautious and kept a good distance. After they entered the gorge, I waited to make sure they were gone before entering. If one of them were a sorcerer they might have teleported.” He ponders, looking into the distance to the mountains. “I think there was a sound after they entered. A faint howl or rush. When I came in… it smelled … I can’t describe it. Not like a normal cave with murky water, moss and critters, but fresh.” 

“Did you find any traces of sorcery?”

“There was nothing obvious, but I did not look for it,” Hogun replies solemnly. “Even if I did, I would not have known what to look for. But if there are any hints, they might be still possible to detect.” 

Thor grunts as it dawns on him what would be the obvious solution.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all I want to thank my beta-reader @Ensignanna so much for helping me! You can find her Tumblr [here](https://ensignanna.tumblr.com/). :) 
> 
> And I was so happy about all the comments on the first chapter. You can't imagine how much the support means to me! Thank you all so much for that!

“To a king, his queen is the first proponent of his power. His confidant. Her presence alone is bound to emanate his will. Boredom, daydreaming or distraction will not only weaken her presence, but undermine his authority as well!” 

Skadis piercing look locks on Loki and he can barely suppress his scowl. The lessons on posture were nearly done, so she and Balder had picked up the correcting of the facial expressions and movement as well. And if that wouldn’t be bad enough on its own, it seemed that at least half of their scolding was directed at Loki. This however was perhaps not entirely without reason – but the daydreaming always had been a nice resort from the lectures he felt sorry to abandon. Loki was already pained by the constant efforts to straighten his back and shoulders. The additional effort to keep his mind focused was totally unbearable. Or maybe even unfeasible. 

Especially when sleep deprived. 

It is a quiet morning after an enormous midsummer feast. All night the sounds of the celebration could be heard, but that wasn’t what kept Loki awake. The tension and the excitement on actually getting a lead on the conspirators was. Those were the reasons which made Loki spend the evening and a fair amount of the night lurking in the garden, well hidden in his favorite tree. His urge to get back at Thor for his last suggestive remark in the stables might have been a minor one, too. 

But in the end it was for nothing. A waste of time, and missed chance on sleep and excitements. The fires for the common folk invited to celebrate along with the nobility in the palace were lit all over the place, including the estates around the harem. A tedious amount of people filled the palace and the surrounding grounds, chattering, drinking and feasting. For the conspirators it was a perfect environment to go unnoticed, and Loki had spent his night watching dozens of people celebrating without getting any valuable hint. Even his faint hope to catch a glimpse of the King was unfulfilled. 

All in all, the night had brought him nothing but exhaustion and a feeling of being expendable. A mood not improved by constant corrections of his posture. 

Or his expression. 

Again Skadi gives him a sharp eye and Loki hurries to look attentive. A small head-shake comments his efforts. 

“As the king speaks judgment, his expression is stern. The queen however is to display acceptance, warmth and even mercy to the petitioners,” Skadi explains, her gaze locking on Loki. He takes a deep breath and wills his expression to soften. She nods slightly and shifts her gaze to Glut, frowning her brows. 

The hour stretches to eternity until it’s finally time for a break, and Skadi allows them to relax for a little bit. When he follows the others to the kitchen, the enthusiastic buzzing of voices resounds to the hall and it becomes clear they have a visitor. Freyja is seated at one of the tables opposed to Balder and as of now surrounded by youth who compete for her attention. 

Loki enters, and Balder rises and smiles at them. “As you can see Lady Freyja chose to honor us again with her presence. You did a fine first impression and she is assisting Skadi and myself in educating you, so you all will have plenty of time to converse. Knowing you would be thrilled by this, we decided to start with the afternoon session today.” Loki joins the cheering, though mostly because this means less posture training. 

In fact, Freyja’s lessons turn out to be quite compelling. No boring lectures, but a game. They sit in a circle, and one picked is to solve a hypothetical scenario. Thus all of them train their political grasp. Einmyria is the first one to answer and looks frightened as she waits for the scenario to unfold. 

Freyja leans back, an encouraging smile on her lips, and narrates: “Picture yourself queen of a kingdom far-far away. Your people live in tribes scattered about the land, sparsely petitioning you as they are wont to solve disputes among them on their own. Sometimes they solve their cases peacefully, yet force of arms is not exceptional during these conflicts. They are a warrior folk, respecting you for your strength and the forces you command.”

“A war tore the land apart for a long time, destroying the harvest and stripping the poorest of everything they need for living. Thus the tribes fight for resources.”

The words makes Loki recall the lectures on the nine realms. The description doesn’t sound like Vanaheim, Alfheim, or Asgard at all. Midgard could not be excluded, but ‘a warrior folk’ didn’t sound so much like them, Loki thinks with a condescending smirk. The dwarves of Nidavellir were definitely no race of warriors even though they would fight valiantly if necessary. But their true nature was building, inventing and craftsmanship. What leaves Muspelheim, Nifflheim, Jotunheim or Svartalfheim. He didn’t know so much about Muspelheim, but he doubted harvesting was something fire demons would do on a fiery realm. Same goes for dishonored dead of Nifflheim. Jotunheim was… unlikely. The description of violence and the clan-structure – surely Freyja knew better about the jarls of Jotunheim and their ways to describe it in such a primitive way. It just didn’t seem fitting. It must be Svartalfheim. Eager to hear more Loki returns his attention to Freyja. 

“A member of a smaller tribe arrives, pleading for refuge and claiming dogs or wolves which appeared from nowhere were repeatedly attacking and killing her people, then vanishing into the thin air. The woman seems however confused, perhaps even mad. You notice the unfocused gaze and repeatedly loosing track of the discourse.”

Dogs out of nowhere! Loki is sure he once read about something similar, but what was it? It was mentioned in one of these books Balder supplied him with, but not the spell itself. Without doubt it had to be summoning, illusion or portal-magic. On second thought illusion seems unlikely to Loki, as these people were attacked physically. If magic was used to attack these villagers, there must be something of value or an old conflict. Perhaps the messenger herself was bewitched. Examining her closely for spells would be the obvious solution, he concludes. 

Einmyria keeps blinking at Freyja for a while before realizing a decision is now awaited from her. She gulps, her eyes searching for help from the others in the circle. Finally she says uneasily, “well, she’s clearly mad. I don’t think I want her in my palace… But sending her away without help doesn’t sound noble either. Can I send some troops to protect them without exposing the palace to enemies?” 

Loki blinks in disbelief and doesn’t manage to suppress a groan. Freyja’s eyes flicker over him for an instant before returning to Einmyria. 

Freyja nods. “Yes. And as it turns out – this is quite what Queen Alflyse did when approached by the Dove Gut tribe. Had she realized this time it was in fact no madness but paralyzing fear shaking the petitioner she might have decided differently. But she did as you suggest, and the troops along with the clansmen where slaughtered by the Wild Hunt: a force consisting of demonic dogs conjured by Malekith himself.” 

Some of the girls gasp with wide eyes. Loki grins. Now this was interesting! He wonders if the spell Malekith uses in fact generates the dogs or fetches them from a hiding place. Einmyria bites her lip and lets her head drop in embarrassment, but Freyja continues, “As you can see, being Queen for a time does not prevent mistakes or misjudgment. Do never let yourself be overwhelmed by the hubris. Even the most insignificant person can bring important word.” 

Amora rolls her eyes, but is instantly spotted by Freyja. “You want to add something?” Freyja asks. 

“I don’t see why we always learn about other realms and not about Asgard! This would have never happened here!” 

“Because Asgard is peaceful and there are no problems here!” Glut retorts spiteful. 

An incredulous scoff slips out of Loki mouth before he can stop himself, but nobody seems to notice as muttering rises all around them, save Freyja whose gaze lingers on him for a second. She lifts a finger to her lips and silence slowly falls again. With a sense of foreboding Loki goes for a low profile but Freyja’s eyes lock on Amora who meets her gaze opinionated.

“Asgard is an exceptional example of wealth, order and beauty. Yet the king is not merely a king of Asgard, even if this is the title he is most fond of. His responsibility goes far beyond this realm and so does the one of his chosen consort.” She smiles impishly. “And problems are a lot like weeds. Even if sprout in your neighbor’s garden, they might sprawl into yours as well.” 

Amora frowns, sulky, but does not object. 

Freyja, however, winks at her. “So, would you like to try the next game? After Einmyria showed you all how it is done, it should go easier now. Don’t forget you are allowed to ask me for additional information!” 

Smiling confidently, Amora nods and Freyja starts to tell: “Well, after you are fond of Asgard, let’s go back a long time in history when it hadn’t been as rich as today, before King Odin brought wealth to the Aesir. Unlike today, Asgard did not excel in craftsmanship and could only trade goods with other realms. The common folk did not have much to live off of. Let’s imagine: some of your commoners’ live in wealth, harvesting the generous yield the lands provide. However others do not possess real estate and only few of them can be employed in the palace. The rest of them house in the outer part of the city, sinking into poverty and breeding hate for those who thrive. Some of them are in danger of starvation. What would you do about this?”

Amora shrugs like this is beneath her. “Send them food.”

Loki thinks about the southeast market and grimaces by the thought how people would react there. The greedy merchants would lose income as long as the donated food lasts, and they would only take it out on the poorest of people there by increasing the prices tenfold as soon as the donation pool runs dry. 

Freyja’s smile grows amused. “Very well. They are fed now, but others think of them parasites, getting goods without working for it. They look down on them. The poor feel ashamed, yet they do not see any way to repay you. Their shame turns to ire, directed against the rich. Soon their food will be gone and yet all you do is keeping them in dependency.” 

Loki finds Freyja’s smile to be contagious. Seeing Amora first silenced and now questioned like this in front of the others feels like a little revenge. Still, she deserves so much more punishment for isolating him as she did. 

Amora looks doubtful, but ponders. “Fine, I provide education so they are able to find employment in the city.” 

Freyja’s smile reaches a level nearly wicked. “Oh, perfect. Gratefully they accept, yet their hatred is unforgotten. They seek knowledge to repay the humiliation from the rich. So you now have a force of unhappy people who know. They know how to craft weapons, how to cast spells. Simultaneously the rich grow angry with you, saying you are riling up the lower class against them. Since many of them are seasoned warriors or sorcerers, you might find yourself under attack in the near future.” 

Enraged Amora jumps to her feet, flushing. “Enough! This is ridiculous! I could easily fight them! Even if some of my warriors secede!” She stares at Freyja challengingly, drawing breath heavily.

Freyja just sits there calmly while she waits for Amora to regain control. When she finally does after a few moments, letting herself drop back onto the cushion, Freyja continues. “As king or queen, you need to lead your people without making them feel imprisoned. Rather than to jump to the solution you prefer, it might be wise to listen to their wishes, hopes and solutions first. Most people will pursue a goal set by themselves much more vigorously than one predetermined by others.”

Amora seems on the breaking point, her hands clenched to fists and lips pressed to a thin line. This lesson is so much more fun than Loki expected. Hopefully Glut was chosen next! With an enormous effort Loki draws his eyes away from Amora to see who would be targeted next. He finds Freyja’s gaze unyieldingly locked on himself and flinches. The wide grin drops from his face in an instant, evoking faint chuckles around him. 

“So, Loki. I have heard a lot about your wit and cunning. Would you give me the honor of playing the next game? I would like to see if you can keep up with your forerunners.” 

This time he manages to suppress the eye-roll caused by the mere idea he could perform worse than Einmyria and Amora. He looks down for a second to make sure his expression looks innocent enough. “That’s not that much of a challenge.”

Freyja nods solemnly. “If you think so. Just not underestimate the pressure of standing in the spotlight. But if you are up for a challenge, I propose we raise the stakes. If you win, I owe you a favor. If not, you owe me. “ 

Loki frowns. This was a surprise. But after all, what kind of a favor could he provide anyway? The opposite however could be incredibly useful, so he nods. 

She ponders for a time, before meeting his gaze again. “I think I have a tale you might find captivating. Yet I cannot deny it is more challenging and complicated than the ones we heard. So do not hesitate to ask for background information. I will help you to a greater degree.” 

He shrugs, smiling predatorily. “Let’s get it over with.”

His words bring the smile back to her face and for a second his self-confidence staggers. 

“Very well. Your people are poor, on the brink to starvation. The strain triggers conflicts. How can you help them?”

Loki rolls his eyes. “I beg your pardon? This is the last tale, all over again!” But Freyja only responds by smiling patiently. So he groans and finishes, “Fine. As their King, I give them a purpose.”

Freyja’s eyes lighten up as she shakes her head. “In this tale, you are not the king.” 

Loki frowns. “Ok then. Who am I?“ 

“You are the prince, heir of royalty but neither the first in line nor the second.” A shiver runs over his back. This had to be a coincidence. It had to! He takes a deep breath. 

“In that case I can attend the hearings or talk to the king.” 

Freya nods solemnly. “A solid plan, but I fear you are not living in the palace but far away with sparse possibility of making contact on yourself.”

“What?! Why would I live somewhere far away?” He demands, equally annoyed and afraid of the answer. 

“The realm was at war when you were born. Afraid for your life, your mother send you away to hide you and ensure your safety.“ The shiver turns to a painful cold creeping over his limbs, making his hairs on his neck rise. Why didn’t he listen to Angrboda? Why didn’t he leave with him that night of the feast? What had he thought when deciding to stay here? 

“Safety?” He shakes his head, unbelieving, swallowing hard. “Living completely alone, far away from the palace?”

“She confided you to a most loyal servant, a sorcerer. A genius, ordered to guide and raise you, for you are the most natural spell caster ever born to your realm. But deep inside you, you know it is your purpose, your fate to help your people from poverty and privation.” 

A deadly dread grips Loki’s heart. This was utterly impossible to be coincidental. He must have been exposed. But why was she teasing him like this? Where were the guards, dragging him to the dungeons? This meant they also knew of Angrboda! Shaking, he imagines Thor bursting in the healers rooms, hammer in hand and sparks glittering at his fingertips. Desperately he clenches his hands and stares defiantly at Freyja. If his fate was sealed he would at least deny her the pleasure of stretching it out any longer.

“Enough! End this. It’s obvious I can’t win it,” Loki snarls. 

From the corner of his eye he sees Sigyn turn pale. Muttering rises around the circle of youth. Confused expressions are turned towards him, including Freyja’s. No lie is visible in her wide eyes and puzzled frown. “You are doing so well! I assure you – there is a fair chance of winning. Until now you have made no mistake.” 

Trembling and baffled Loki leans back and gives Freyja a wary look. “Where does this tale take place?” 

At first Frejya seems unwilling to answer, but reconsiders. “Svartalfheim.” 

All at once the truth dawns on him. “Svartalfheim! The ruler who lets his people live in poverty is Queen Alflyse! That means… the prince I impersonated is Malekith?!” Loki had heard Malekith to be an extraordinary sorcerer, but he didn’t knew him to be part of the royal family. But it made sense – in this case he would indeed feel responsible for his people. 

With a generous nod Freyja confirms his conclusions. “Malekith is the thirteenth son of a thirteenth son so his advancement to the throne by heritage was unlikely. His ambition combined with his sense of purpose, however, are a different matter. Which path would you strike in his stead?” 

Loki feels lightheaded with relief what makes it tricky to concentrate on the task, but the fact they already discussed this topic with Skadi plays in his favor. “The problem is the queen, isn’t she? She takes all the riches from her people, making them pry on each other. However, it should be no problem to take her out, given my skills at sorcery. Even on my own I should be able to do so.” 

“She has her army close to her. Do you think you could stay victorious against all of them?”

“I don’t think that’s necessary. I can summon the Wild Hunt as a distraction, invade the palace on my own and confront her with only few followers around.” 

Freyja pauses remarkably long as she eyes him, thoughtful. “And how would this serve your goal to unite your people?” 

He gives her an eye roll. “I just took out the main hindrance! They should unite naturally. Unlike her, I would give them prosperity.” Certain of victory, he smiles predatorily. 

“I see.” She inclines her head. “But as mentioned before, the dark elves are a people of warriors who respect strength rather than cunning. Taking out the queen like this would certainly be possible, but it would weaken your position, as it would not be considered a fair combat. It would force you to defend your position against dozens of challengers. Therefore you would have exchanged one disrespected leader for another, not ending any of the disputes, neither among your people nor against the crown. Malekith knows they do not want a den mother, but a conqueror. He fights the major clans openly, subjecting one after the other and thereby eliminating many of the weaker clans simultaneously.”

Loki deflates. That makes sense, he had to admit. But losing the game isn’t the worst outcome of this, he thinks. An unpleasant tingle rushes through him, a reminder of his mortal fear minutes ago. 

Suddenly Loki’s thoughts are snapped back to reality as he realizes Freyja is standing right in front of him, offering him a hand. He blinks in confusion, but before he’s able to find words Freyja smiles. “Shall we go? I’d like to collect my favor right away, if you don’t mind.” 

For a beautiful goddess of fertility, she was elusively scary. Loki feels the coldness returning to his body and begs internally for someone to prohibit her taking him. “Go? Where?” he asks meekly. In search for help, he eyes Skadi and Balder, who look just as surprised. 

While Skadi displays a stern expression which would be enough to silence Loki in most situations, Freyja smiles unconcerned. “I vouch for his well-being and compliance to all harem rules.” Clearly unhappy, Skadi ponders, finally exchanging a glooming glance with Balder, whose twitching corners of the mouth do not improve on her mood. 

“Fine,” Skadi indulges, “But he has to be back before dinner.” 

The outraged whispering and glares follow them all the way to the main entrance as Freyja guides Loki out of the harem. The unpleasant tingle inside his guts returns as she leads him silently through palace halls, which grow smaller and more devoid the further they go. Perhaps he was exposed. Perhaps they just didn’t want to upset the others by arresting him in front of them. Perhaps they want to dispose of him quietly. The tension is nearly too much for Loki to bear. They exit the palace and come onto a small square where a huge coated figure awaits them. 

The figure turns towards them and sudden relief washes over Loki when he spots the king’s familiar face. But right as a smile creeps onto his lips, Thor gives him a warning glance accompanied by a tiny head shake. Confused, Loki stiffens right before he feels Freya’s eyes on him. She looks suspiciously from Thor to Loki and back again, but before she can ask Thor steps forward and hands Loki a thin coat. 

“At last! We need to hurry. “ 

Freyja gives him a half warning, half annoyed look. “Alright. Just behave – I vowed for his safety. And when you are back, I expect my explanation without any further delay.” 

“I promise,” Thor says with an uneasy nod, which makes the corners of Loki’s mouth twitch. Amazing how fun it is to watch Freyja bridle others. Before her attention can return to him, Loki slips into the coat and rights the hood. 

While Thor grips his hand and heads for a small pathway, pulling Loki with him, excitement buds in Loki. The plan must have worked. Without any words, Thor leads him through some narrow alleys until they reach the forest. Covered by trees and away from all the people swarming the streets, the King relaxes notably, but not enough to slow down. Unwilling to keep silent, Loki speaks under his breath. 

“It worked, didn’t it?” Loki whispers, trembling with excitement.

Only then Thor slows down so they can walk side by side. He turns to Loki with a soft smile, causing a warm feeling grow within him. 

“Partly.” 

Loki groans. “You should have let me help! What happened?”

Amusement and annoyance are visible in Thor’s expression. “Only Vinar left during the feast and vanished to the mountains. Somehow he was shielded from Heimdall’s view, but Hogun managed to track him to a crack on the mountainside. But when he entered, he found it empty. There must be magic involved.”

“Oh.” Loki frowns slightly while thinking. This is odd. He had expected the conspirators to use the midsummer feast as a diversion to meet and discuss, not to send one of them away on his own. This sounded much more like them taking action than planning. But what of interest could be hidden in the mountains? Lost in thoughts, he chews on his bottom lip when he feels Thor’s eyes on him, smiling in awe. When their eyes meet Thor refocuses and straightens his shoulders. 

“You know any spell that can do that?” 

Loki shrugs. “Vanishing out of that crack? Could be a lot of things. Teleportation, concealment, even a hidden entrance could be possible.” 

“I meant hiding from Heimdall’s gaze.” 

Loki shrinks. “I ... there is surely more than one way to achieve that.” 

Thor looks puzzled by Loki’s evasive answer. “Can you tell of which origin it is? Is it Asgardian?“

“Possibly.” 

“What else?“ He stops and grips Loki by the shoulders so they are facing each other. Reluctantly, Loki meets his eyes. 

“There are many possibilities! I don’t know each and every kind of seidr. It’s quite likely the light elves have a variant of such seidr and I certainly don’t know enough about the dwarves to exclude…” 

“Loki…” Thor says, a warning in his voice. 

Loki winces before speaking reluctantly. “I know of jotun magic concealing view and sound from seidr as Heimdall uses it. But that doesn’t mean it’s the one they used!” 

He raises his eyes, pleading for Thor to understand. While Thor is staring down on him sternly, there is an odd softness in his eyes and the corners of his mouth might have just twitched the tiniest bit. His right hand releases Loki’s shoulder and grips his neck, the thumb caressing softly Loki’s skin. “What is it with you and the Jotun that you care so much?” He asks softly as his eyes drop to Loki’s lips. 

Blushing, Loki licks his lips nervously before answering, unable to stop his defensive tone. “They are the poorest people of all nine realms and yet most Aesir hate them and spread prejudice about them! These conspirators tried putting the blame on them once before. Someone has to stay objective to make …” 

He falls silent as Thor releases his other shoulder to gently stroke his thump over Loki’s lips. Loki feels his heart accelerating, heat rising on his cheeks and a tingle in his stomach, half afraid half excited. They are a fair way into the forest, no soul close to them, and Thor is staring at him like he would like to kiss Loki right here and now. 

But then Thor snaps back and his arms fall back to his sides. He shakes his head as if to dispel a thought. 

“Is it possible to trace which one they used?” 

Trying to overcome an annoying feeling of disappointment, Loki takes a deep breath. “Magic aiming to conceal and hide? Certainly not. This would be casted directly by a sorcerer, not a spell like they used in the vault.” 

Seeing Thor’s disappointed expression, Loki adds, “It might be different for whatever they used in the gorge.” 

Thor expression brightens and he takes Loki’s hand, leading him further in the direction of the mountains. His grip, as warm as it is firm, makes Loki recall the last time they met, weeks ago, at the stables. He wonders how long he would have to wait for the next time. 

“So where have you been last night?” Thor asks, squinting slightly at him. His words make Loki’s head snap back in surprise. 

“In the harem of course,” Loki answers, not trying to hide his undertone of hurt. 

“Really?” Thor lifts his eyebrows suspiciously, causing Loki to glower at him. 

“Naturally! You made me promise – did you already forget? 

Obviously still hesitant to believe, Thor gives Loki a skeptical glance. “So you’re telling me you were actually in your room sleeping, leaving our plan in my hands?” 

Loki’s eyes must have flickered because the suspicion mixed with annoyance darkens Thor’s face. “What have you done exactly?” 

“Nothing!” Loki declares vehemently. “I promised not to leave the harem grounds and I didn’t. You never said I couldn’t sit in the garden and watch.” The idea alone to have this last bit of freedom taken from him makes him flush in anger, so he pulls his hand out of Thor’s grip and strides ahead. 

He barely makes it three meters before the startled silence behind him ends and he hears Thor’s heavy steps closing up on him. “Why don’t you understand this is for your protection?!” Thor snaps as he reaches Loki, griping his wrist and forcefully turning him around. 

_‘Protection against whom? You wouldn’t think your enemies see any of us as precious as the relicts of the vault?’_ Loki wants to spit out. Or even better: _‘I grew up around the southeast market and never needed protection until your people put these shackles on me!‘_ He feels heat flowing to his face. His heart is racing, and an overwhelming urge to rebel against the boundaries he had to endure threatens overwhelm him. Steaming with anger, Loki’s glare pierces Thor’s eyes, but suddenly he can’t do it. 

Beneath his anger, alarm flares in Thor’s face.

Deflating Loki draws a strained breath before mumbling, “I never…” He swallows and starts again, avoiding Thor‘s gaze. “I just miss exploring.” 

Thor’s head snaps back as if Loki had hit him. He opens his mouth to say something but keeps silent, awkwardly rubbing Loki’s wrist with his thumb. With a slight drop of his shoulders, he relents with a sigh. “I am truly sorry. Believe me. The time will come you are free to roam as you like, but until then…” He casts a glance at their surroundings with a hopeful sort of a smile “… you might enjoy this getaway as much as possible.”

Worn out from his fight for self-control, Loki takes a frazzled glance around and shrugs. “It’s something, I suppose,” Loki admits with a sad smile, which Thor returns. 

While they walk in silence, Thor keeps sending him glances, but Loki refuses to react. Even if Thor’s intentions were noble and good-hearted, his actions still made Loki a captive. _About time he had to witness the ramifications_ , Loki thinks while holding his head straight and forcefully banishing the warm feeling Thor’s expression had planted in his stomach. 

“What did you explore before you came to the harem?” Thor suddenly asks, ripping Loki out of his thoughts. In an instant he decides not to mention the southeast market and everything which was connected to it. 

“The forest mainly. We didn’t live far from it and it was just pleasingly fresh, unlike the city,” Loki explains, a soft smile sneaking on his face. 

“What did you do there?” Thor asks, bearing the expression of honest interest. 

“I wandered. During heats like this summer I swam in the creek.” Loki chuckles, giving Thor a coy smirk. “Sometimes I talked to animals.”

As expected, this casts a surprised grin to the king’s face. “You must walk silently as a cat if you managed to come close enough to talk to them. Or did you shout at them from afar?” Thor scoffs with an amused head shake. “I wish I had the power to order some to show up for you today.” 

“But there are dozens of them here,” Loki replies, surprised. His smile grows even broader seeing Thor’s confused face. He bends down, combing through small ground-cover plants, and after a moment proudly presents an adder to his companion. 

“A snake!” Thor blurts out. “I love snakes! How did you know it was there?“ he rambles on as he takes the adder from Loki’s hands and admires it sliding through his hands. 

“They like such places. And if I hadn’t found a snake, I definitely would have found a snail,” Loki says with a wicked grin and a shrug. 

Thor snorts, amused, and releases the adder. “Of course, I did picture you sitting on the grass of a clearing, surrounded by does and rabbits, listening to songbirds. Not searching the soil for critters.” 

Loki tries to glower at Thor but the image is so laughable he quickly dissolves into giggles. “That is ridiculous beyond comparison!” Loki sneers, but ponders then. “Yet, I have to admit I might have befriended a raven, but you are doubtless not willing to count that as a songbird.” 

“A raven?” Thor asks, suddenly severe. “The one sitting on the roof of the stable when we last met?” 

“Well, yes,” Loki replies, frowning. “You know him?“ 

Thor groans. “Far too well. They are actually two of them, called Huginn and Muninn.” He rolls his eyes fondly. “They answer only to my father. When I was younger, I learned to avoid them in certain situations. Huginn seems to remember these days lately since he started following me again some time ago.” 

Loki nearly misses a step, shocked by this revelation, but luckily Thor seems too lost in memories to notice. “They answer to him?” Loki asks, horrified, causing Thor to turn him, amusement shining from his eyes. 

“They do! But fear not – probably he only shows interest because Hoenir told him about you. I doubt he would be interested in gossip. Besides, it must have been Muninn who visited you; he’s the one who my father tend to employs if he wants to recall something,” Thor explains lightheartedly, unaware of Loki’s tension. Around them, the ground is quickly becoming more rock than soil. Trees are becoming bushes, and long grass covers the ground in front of them. The forest is giving way to a rutted mountainside. 

Loki lets Thor walk ahead, frantically searching his memories of what he told the raven. This must be his most unlucky day ever, nearly being exposed two times already. 

And it isn’t even midday. 

Thor leads them up the mountain and into a crack in the mountainside, which separates two larger peaks. A gentle breeze comes from the shadowed gorge, refreshing in the burning heat of the Asgardian summer. 

Thor turns to him as if to say something, but Loki, eager to flee into the shady resort, strides past the king, inhaling with relish. 

“So this is where they vanished?” Loki asks pryingly and Thor simply nods with a tensed face. Loki searches for words to calm him, but none come to mind. He just gives him an impish smirk before he starts examining the gorge. 

As he carefully walks inside, he notices it’s dark and moist. The sound of water dripping from the walls onto the debris on the bottom of the crack sounds like music to Loki’s ears. Further on, the gorge becomes a cave as the walls lean to each other, meeting some way above their heads. His eyes take some time to adapt to the darkness, but when they finally do, no more exciting things are revealed. No runes in the stone, no blood. There is nothing which would hint to someone passing here lately. 

There are some spots where the ground is furrowed, but tracking is something Loki never bothered to learn. Thor follows him as he strolls further into the crack, his face troubled and his hand tense around Mjolnir’s handle. “Did you find anything?” Thor asks. 

“Patience isn’t your fortitude, is it?” Loki teases as he inspects the walls, ground, and everything in reach. But there is nothing. He can’t help feeling annoyed. Thor made Freyja fetch him from the harem, and gave him a somewhat enjoyable stroll through the forest (despite Thor’s infuriating manners). And now he was unable to repay him for that. And besides, Loki had anticipated impressing with his skills once more! Having to confess his inability was the exact opposite of what he had in mind. 

“Anything yet?” Thor urges once more, causing Loki to grind his teeth silently. 

“Nothing,” Loki hisses, turning to Thor. “Perhaps they didn’t use a spell this time. Perhaps they took a sorcerer with them to cast magic instead of preparing a slow and imprecise spell. Or they learned from the last time, taking everything with them when they left.” Clenching his fists, he paces further into the crack. The walls stand closer there, leaving barely enough space for one warrior even though there are some notches at the sides. And then Loki reaches the end. A dead end. He sees nothing but debris and sand trickling down between the dry stones. 

Definitely not the place to hide an entrance. He exhales with a hiss. Another possibility turned to dust. 

Behind him, Loki hears Thor chuckle. “What?” Loki growls. 

But Thor shakes his head slightly and shrugs. “Nothing. Hogun must have a blunt nose if he considers this a fresh scent.” 

Loki stops in his tracks. “What exactly did he tell you?” he asks. 

“Well, what I just told you,” Thor explains with a confused frown. “He entered the gorge, found it empty and it smelled fresh.” 

Loki wants to curse, but manages only to throw his hands in the air in a gesture of disbelief. “You should have told me from the beginning!” Loki groans. 

Touching the wall with one hand he hurries back towards the entrance, nearly cheering when he finds what he suspected. Grinning broadly. He turns to Thor. 

“But you are lucky your friend was more considerate,” Loki boasts in triumph. “They _did_ use magic here.” 

“What?” Thor asks, bewildered, giving Loki even more time to bask in his success. “How do you know? And what has that to do with the smell?” 

“The smell is the clue! Obviously it doesn’t smell fresh now, but it did when he was here!” Loki grins at Thor’s annoyed scowl as he explains it as slowly as possible. “Most people do not differ between _fresh_ and _cold_. Air doesn’t carry scents as well when cold. The energy used for magic has to come from somewhere, because some types of magic drain the energy from their surroundings,” Loki concludes confidently. 

Thor doesn’t look convinced. “Caves are usually colder than the outside.”

Loki rolls his eyes at him. “I checked the temperature of the walls. They are much colder here at the entrance than deeper inside. Furthermore they are wet here, but not further inside. They must have been very cold a while ago.” 

“Water running down stone isn’t rare as well,” Thor argues. 

“There is no moss growing here!” Loki snaps, running out of patience. “There would be, if it were common.”

Frowning, Thor mirrors Loki’s examination, pressing a hand at the wall while walking back to the dead end. Finally he nods. “I can feel what you said. So – what spell was it?” 

“How should I know?” Loki asks, puzzled. 

“You just described it!” Thor huffs. 

“That it drew energy from the environment, yes. But that’s not unique,” Loki snaps. 

“Which do you know that do?” Thor urges. 

“Some. Most of which are to create or summon. Just to clarify: Teleportation doesn’t,” Loki explains with a shrug. 

“Loki – they vanished! That’s the exact opposite of creation!” Thor chuckles at him, getting a glare in reply. 

“I didn’t claim to know everything. You want to know more, find someone who reads the magic pattern with seidr,” Loki sneers, spinning around to storm towards the entrance. A firm grip around his wrist stops him. Gently, but easily as if Loki weighs nothing, Thor manhandles him against a stone wall. Caged by Thor’s muscular arms, Loki finds his wrists firmly wrapped by Thor’s hands. 

Panting in surprise, Loki stares into Thor’s eyes, heat rising in his cheeks. And suddenly it dawns on Loki how alone and far from the city they are. How close Thor is, how enchanting his scent. A flattering tension forms in his stomach, pulse rising and heat flowing through him. Suddenly Loki is painfully aware of his own body, especially where their skin touches and the pressure against his back. And then he feels a sharp pain when his dick twitches, the blood rushing south, and feels himself gets clamped by the elastic material of his trousers. 

The amused sparkle in Thor’s eyes however turns his scare to ire. But before he is able to sneer at him, Thor says teasingly, “As a matter of fact – I would like you to read the magic here.” And then he clips the bracelets open with a tiny spark of electricity. 

Stunned, Loki watches Thor pulling his hands back, a golden bracelet resting in each. 

With the seals removed, his long-bound magic comes crushing down on him. 

It’s like fire dancing over his skin, roaring in his ears, ripping through his core. Whenever he dreamed of having his seidr back. He had imagined it would feel like being whole again, not like a cramp in his mind. 

With a painful wail Loki grips his head and with an overwhelming feeling of nausea the world starts rotating. Distantly he hears Thor shout something and feels something hitting his side, but everything gets covered by the prickling sensation of the magic pattern around them. 

After being cut off from it so long, he feels like he could almost see it, more than just sensing it. And it is huge. Behind Thor, a giant vortex is tearing at the pattern. Behind Thor, who is kneeling over Loki who, for some reason he doesn’t know, is laying on his side at the bottom of the wall. The vortex feels … _cold_. He can’t find a better word for it. 

But a pleasant kind of cold. 

Calming. 

It doesn’t make sense. Loki has never seen anything like it before. 

And above all Thor doesn’t shut up. Not a single second. He even shakes Loki, eyes wide with horror. 

“Loki! No! Say something! You can’t just faint like this! Please! No, no, no, NO! Please! Why don’t you say something…“ Thor begs. Loki can’t hold back his grin, which effectively shuts Thor up at least, making the thunderer groan.

“You’re better. Why didn’t you say immediately?” Thor demands with a slightly offended but mainly relieved expression. 

“I was listening,” Loki replies, letting his grin grow. The return of his seidr was dazzling, making him feel like drunk. “It is a rare opportunity to hear you beg.” 

Thor groans, giving him another glower which fails to cover his utter relief. “Who in all realms taught you to be this arrogant?” Thor grumbles. “I was worried!” 

Loki smiles wickedly as he rises and taps the dust off his clothes. “Serves you right! At least you could’ve warned me!” 

Thor had the dignity to look remorseful. “I see that now. But why did it hurt you? That wasn’t supposed to hurt!”

“It didn’t hurt, exactly,” Loki explains hesitantly. “It’s just... my magic was bound so long. I nearly forgot how much there is to sense.” Annoyed about his own inability to describe it any less crypticly, Loki gives Thor a weak glance before turning to examine the weird vortex at the entrance of the crack further. Behind him, an awestruck smile appears on Thor’s face. 

While Loki advances towards the vortex, his mind catches up with the events. His seidr was back! He feels so relieved he could cry tears of joy. There was so much he could do now! Oh, how he looked forward to the next time someone attempts to harass him. And he could conceal himself from Heimdall’s view and (theoretically) flee anytime he wanted! 

Well, at least as long Thor wasn’t watching him from behind, only few steps away. 

Loki knew his abilities are impeccable. Even more so after he had so much time to study all the books in the library. (Even though he haven’t had the time to practice all these spells until now.) 

But he wasn’t delusional. He wouldn’t be able to hold up to Thor in an open confrontation. Loki’s magic was delicate, aiming to delude, distract or to bait. It held no comparison to the pure force of nature that was Thor’s lighting. Involuntarily, Loki imagines how Thor would take him down in a fight, holding Loki down by his writs as he did so often, and feels a warm prickle under his skin. 

The instant he realizes what he was doing, he clenches his fists.

What was wrong with him, and why was he constantly being sucked into daydreaming? 

“So, can you… see… what kind of magic they used?” Thor asks from behind, and Loki flinches. 

Right. 

The spell. 

Frowning, he searches for traces of magic, but the vortex is drowning nearly everything else. 

“I believe there was another sorcerer here,” Loki admits cautiously. “But I cannot tell if or what spells he used. But there is something weird here. I have never seen anything …” Loki’s voice trails off when he rises a hand and tentatively examines the vortex with his seidr. 

The small amount of magic he lets wash over the vortex works like a spark on a haystack. The vortex manifests itself, nearly becoming visible. It causes an ice-cold, roaring wind to blow through the crack, whirling up dust and sand. Behind Loki, Thor gasps, alarmed. 

“Stop it! Whatever you’re doing, stop it!” Thor orders from behind him. 

A spark of anger and defiance flares up, tempting Loki to feed even more energy to the weird vortex to find out what it could actually _do_. But then his rationality wins over and he drops his hand, disappointed. 

And for a second the wind declines. 

But only for a second. 

Before he sees it, Loki’s seidr senses it. With the strength of a storm, the vortex manifests completely, winds howling so fiercely Thor and Loki both stagger backwards further back into the crack. In front of them, in mid-air, a fissure appears, darkness curling at its edges like fog. And – as it grows and opens further– a dark rutted landscape becomes visible within the fissure. The coldest breeze he has ever felt blows in both of their faces. Loki feels the hair on his arms rising. 

Across the vortex, he can see another cave, a much smaller counterpart of the one they are standing in. The fissure opens up nearly at the entrance of the other cave, revealing a generous view of the surrounding area. Through the white cloud of his own breath, he sees what he only ever heard of in Angrboda’s tales. Over mountains covered by snow, a dark and starless sky expands. Ice sheets with sharp edges protrude from the frozen ground, making the wind howl as it swirls the snow.

It had to be Jotunheim. 

“I said stop it!” Thor spits, a hint of apprehension showing beneath his rage. He grabs Loki’s arm firmly, jerking him out of his shock. 

Loki locks eyes with Thor, searching for words to explain it isn’t his doing. But he only manages to shake his head at Thor weakly as the sound of arguing voices approach from the other side of the vortex.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would like to thank [ensignanna](https://ensignanna.tumblr.com/) for her untiring beta-reading! This whole story would be a mess without her.

Thor freezes for just a split second. Then Loki finds himself manhandled into a tiny notch, back pressed to the wall, Thor’s hand firmly covering Loki’s mouth and Thor’s body pushed against Loki’s chest. If he hadn’t been so shocked, Loki would have wondered how Thor himself managed to squeeze into the notch, not to mention both of them. But the approaching enemies dispel such thoughts and they both wriggle and turn for the best view on the fissure, exchanging angry hushes.

The freezing breeze continues to sweep snowflakes towards them. Thor shivers against Loki’s chest. After a stretched moment, two silhouettes come into view at the other side of the fissure and Loki can, with some effort, make out the words of the arguing voices. 

“… OUTRAGIOUS! The next time… (the wind howls) … it yourself!!” one man snaps, voice trembling in barely veiled ire, and Loki feels Thor tense. Whatever the other answers is spoken too softly to make out words. 

“I mean it! Begging this spoiled _brat_ for favors!? What were you thinking? This is the last time we do things your way!” the first one snarls, revealing himself to be a blond, scholarly looking Aesir as he steps through the fissure and stomps the snow off his boots. 

The other follows him, his movements smooth and catlike as he passes the fissure and turns to follow the Aesir out of the cave. He is slender and tall, his hair white and clothed in a foreign armor Loki does not recognize. 

“I assure you, he will comply. Agreeing too easily would make him look weak in front of his warriors. His mockery aimed to obscure his interest. The bickering of his allies will win him over. After all, such an audacity would be unprecedented,” the second one answers, his tone one of stretched patience. 

Loki gulps. They must have just returned from Jotunheim after talking to a leader of warriors. At least, he thinks it must be Jotunheim. It’s not like he remembers it. Legend says Niflheim would be even colder, so it couldn’t be excluded. But what could they want there? 

And on the other hand, the breeze isn’t even that cold. More refreshing, Loki decides. But if it really _was_ Jotunheim, who would they talk to? One of his brothers, perhaps? He clenches his hands in frustration. Why would they do something so stupid? Plotting with Aesirs, probably against King Thor himself! That would be the worst idea in the history of post-war Jotunheim! They couldn’t be that shortsighted. 

“You cannot picture how relieved I feel,” the Aesir snaps spitefully. “And how long will it take for those creatures to convince him? One month? Or ten? A decade? Each day he spends pondering, the war takes more of our allies. And it remains to be seen, if they are as convincing as you believe. “ 

The second man’s laughter is sharp and un-amused. “You are in no position to argue! You failed repeatedly in making your imbecile king to take action. Nearly one year and three people in his closest circle, and yet you reached _nothing_!” 

The two men had left the gorge, and with every step their voices became harder to make out. Eager to keep listening, Loki shifts in Thor’s grip, trying to leave the notch. Thor pointedly clutches Loki even firmer, and a warning flashes in his eyes when he meets Loki’s gaze. 

Heat rises in his cheeks and a pleasant prickle washes over Loki’s skin. And this time his body starts to react. 

The male part, of course. 

Just perfect. 

He tries to draw back and make room between them, to prevent Thor from noticing it. But only unyielding stone is behind him, so he tries to push Thor’s hand away from his mouth. Thor only strengthens the pressure. 

The pressure in his pants starts to get painful. Out of any other options, Loki gathers as much spit as he can in his mouth, and licks Thor’s palm over his mouth. 

Gasping in surprise, Thor yanks his hand back, his eyes darkening. “Stop it!” Thor hisses, nearly inaudible, but Loki shakes his head. “We have to follow! We can’t miss this opportunity!” Loki breathes as he wriggles in an attempt to escape the notch. 

“No!” Thor orders, disgusted, his eyes wandering from his hand to the stone wall before returning back to Loki. While Thor is distracted, he nearly manages to wind free. But then he feels Thor’s hand first gently strike and then grab his arm and gets manhandled back against the wall. 

“Use your magic so we can listen to them.” 

“I can’t!” Loki hisses. “The portal feeds on magic used around here. It would open.” 

And still Thor has him pressed against the stone, unrelenting. Loki starts to pant as he struggles to escape, but it’s no use. Thor even dares to hush Loki, amusement sparkling in his eyes, and Loki nearly screams in frustration. But then Thor shifts slightly and suddenly his hip brushes against Loki’s crotch and a sting of pain reminds him why he wanted to leave the notch in the first place. 

Gulping, Loki calms and shuts his eyes in surrender while willing his body to behave. An endeavor that is considerably complicated by Thor’s pleased hum against Loki’s ear. “So you actually can learn how to obey,” Thor whispers and pets Loki’s throat with his thumb. Loki feels the familiar, warm prickle return to his skin as he slowly breathes, refusing to open his eyes. 

After a time Thor moves and slips out of the notch, leaving Loki shivering with relief at the sudden rush of cold air within the cave. After taking a moment to gather himself, Loki winces at his first steps to follow Thor. It seems, this time his female parts reacted as well. With each step he feels the awkward wetness between his legs. 

He finds Thor at the entry of the gorge taking in the surroundings, apparently not spotting anything suspicious. Anger rises in Loki. “Splendid! Now they are gone! We could have tracked them!” 

But his outburst only brings a frown to Thor’s face. “And risk being discovered? No. Besides, we don’t know how powerful this sorcerer is. I couldn’t risk a battle with you around.” 

“But you could risk further plotting against you?” Loki snaps, his tone becoming harried. “We could have followed them, tracked them. Even overpowered and questioned them! Now, we might never learn what they did … on …” His voice cracks as he struggles to speak the name.

Desperation claws its way into his throat. “What could they possibly _want_ there?” Dozens of possible answers go through his mind, each one even worse than the other. His eyes start to water. 

Suddenly he is ripped from his thoughts as a strong hand finds its way to the nape of Loki’s neck. “They pretend the Jotuns were our enemies,” Thor says, smiling like he is stating the obvious. “They did so last time, but badly. After you debunked them, they have to strive for credibility.” 

With these words Thor turns and starts walking back to the city. “Come! I promised to Freyja not to take too long.” 

Loki blinks slowly before following Thor. He doesn’t dare to think that is all, but it might be a part. “You think they planned to be followed?” Loki asks warily as he approaches Thor. 

“No, obviously not,” Thor objects solemnly. “But they might have tried to talk some Jotuns into helping them, for real this time.”

“What? Why would they! They know…. Even Jotuns must realize an Aesir would never ask one of them honestly to support them against a fellow Aesir. They know we hate them.” 

Thor smiles fondly, glancing over his shoulder at Loki. “You don’t.” 

If he was trying to defuse Loki’s anger, the attempt failed gloriously. “This is not about me! Do you honestly believe these conspirators would seek help from Jotunheim?” Loki growls. 

The path they follow back to the town widens enough to walk side by side and Loki uses the chance to catch up. 

“Perhaps they don’t word it so obvious. A while ago, there were rumors Malekith tried to align himself with king Helblindi of Jotunheim,” Thor answers cheerful.

Loki clenches his teeth in desperation. Silently, he prays none of his siblings would do something as foolish as support an Asgardian plot against the king. They just had to be wiser. Frantically he tries to find a pattern in all what happened. 

“Perhaps they pretend to support Malekith. Or they truly support him! Perhaps Asgard is not even the goal of this plotting, but a tool. If Helblindi found himself under attack by Asgard, he might be more willing to join forces,” Loki wonders desperately. He turns to Thor, eyes widened in concern. “Could Malekith be behind this? Could he use this against Helblindi to make him support his fight against Alflyse?” 

Thor ponders over Loki’s words and finally presses his lips to a thin line. “Possibly. But this plan would need Asgard to move against Jotunheim.” He grins at Loki. “If you are right, we already managed to prevent escalation of the war once. Any plan like this could be easily thwarted by doing nothing.”

Unable to appreciate the inclusion, Loki shivers in apprehension as his mind goes strolling. “There are certain actions you cannot ignore and we don’t know what they bargained for!” He searches for Thor’s gaze desperately. “If they manage to attack Asgard, if they deliver a blow too hard to excuse, you will be forced to act! That mustn’t happen!” 

But Thor only chuckles, making Loki’s blood boil in rage. “I assure you I am not easily forced.” 

“Then they might manipulate you!” Loki sneers, throwing his hands up. “Why don’t you take this seriously!?” 

Thor suddenly throws his head back in laughter. Loki gasps, speechless, before red-hot rage flows through his veins. Suddenly his magic burns so hot under his skin he craves nothing more than to throw it at Thor. But surely attacking the King of the nine realms would be considered precisely such an inexcusable act, regardless how justified it would have been. Trembling and struggling for self-control, Loki waits for Thor to regain composure. 

Eventually Thor wipes a tear from his face, still grinning broadly. “Ah Loki, you are so adorably fierce when it comes to politics!” he chuckles, and grips Loki’s shoulder, looking deeply into his eyes. “I give you my word I will not underestimate this threat!” 

“You enjoy this, don’t you?” Loki scoffs incredulously. “You can’t simply promise something you don’t plan on acting out.” 

Thor chuckles again. He resumes on walking, pulling Loki with him with an arm draped around Loki’s shoulder. His hand is a warm pressure on Loki’s nape. “So, what would you have me do?” Thor teases. 

And suddenly it’s not the (rapidly decreasing) rage which makes Loki’s heart race, but the closeness. He takes a shaking breath, going through possible answers in his mind while they reenter the forest. The colder air beneath the trees offers relief from the summer heat. Loki bites his lower lip in worry. The plea he wants to make might be too bold, even for Loki. 

“We know they talked to someone on Jotunheim, right? There are only two parties which know what they talked about. If you don’t want to question the ones we watched….” 

“I don’t!” Thor interrupts expectedly. “As long as we don’t know who else is in this plot it would give away our advantage.” 

Loki nods slowly. “If you don’t want to question them, I propose you reach out to the other end of the bargain.” He cautiously observes Thor’s expression from the corner of his eyes. 

And finally Thor gets serious. He casts a troubled glance at Loki, who focuses on examining their way innocently. “You think I should contact king Helblindi and ask if someone tried to incite war against me recently?” 

“Perhaps don’t word it so obvious,” Loki retorts sweetly. “Why don’t you affect a simple brush-up of the old treaty? A bridge of friendship between two of the nine realms in times of turmoil.” 

Thor hums softly, contemplating. “Well, first of all – I don’t reckon Helblindi would take a gamble like plotting against Asgard. To me, he seemed relatively reasonable.” Loki’s gaze snaps to Thor’s thoughtful face. “Second – reaching out to Jotunheim would provoke opposition on Asgard.” Seeing Loki’s frozen expression, Thor’s voice softens. “I shall act regardless, but only the smallest circle may know.” 

Loki feels relief wash over him like a warm shower. He doesn’t notice the soft smile on his face as he looks down, biting his lower lip and considering his next words. He is torn between uneasiness and hope. When he looks up again, Thor is watching him with a tempting grin on his face, and Loki blushes against his will. 

“What?” Loki asks defensively, instantly cursing himself silently for letting Thor unsettle him at all. 

“You are doing it again!” Thor grins. “You’re campaigning for Jotunheim!” Thor chuckles with a shake of his head, and Loki feels a cold grip fasting around his stomach before Thor catches his gaze again and winks. “And you wanted to say something, but couldn’t get up the nerve.” 

Oblivious of Loki’s uneasiness, he grips both of Loki’s shoulders, turning him to himself. “Tell me!” Thor demands cheerfully, and Loki feels heat rising in his cheeks. 

Loki aches to ask so much for his brothers. It had sounded so much as if Thor had met at least Helblindi. Angrboda never returned to Jotunheim after he took it upon himself to raise Loki. If Thor ever met his brother, he must have met him after the war when Helblindi became King of Jotunheim. 

Thor must have seen him, how he hold up all by himself on the throne. What kind of ruler he had become, and what kind of person. So many things Loki would only learn when he, one day, would return home. 

But he couldn’t ask that. Not now, when Thor already starts noticing Loki’s interest. The seconds seem to expand into eternity, and despite his frantic thinking Loki find no fitting evasion, no convenient lie to lure Thor to another topic. 

“Tell me!” Thor teases again, shaking Loki playfully. Loki squirms, causing Thor to chuckle again.

“I…” Loki swallows painfully. “You can’t let me return with my magic unbound, can you?” Loki asks in a tone aiming to sound composed, but comes out haunted. A shadow falls over Thor’s playful expression. “No,” Thor answers softly, his hands dropping from Loki’s shoulders. 

They near the periphery of the city, marked by few smaller houses built among the trees. Loki’s gaze unconsciously follows a path back into the forest as he remembers the suffocating pressure of the bracelets upon his seidr. For a second, he imagines darting of into the dense undergrowth, using a spell to veil him from Thor’s and Heimdall’s view, running back to the vortex and then… 

Loki is snapped out of his thoughts by Thor’s hand grasping his arm firmly, turning his face towards the King’s sorrowful expression. “Loki, please believe me: I do not wish to do this to you! I…” Thor obviously plans to proceed, but anger surging up within Loki makes him interrupt. 

“Oh, you don’t?! Then why are you doing it? Don’t tell me such things would happen against your order!” Loki sneers, pulling back violently from Thor’s grip and feeling oddly satisfied by the shocked expression on Thor’s face. 

Yet, it takes only a moment for Thor to reestablish his hold on Loki, this time even firmer and aided by his other hand gripping Loki’s shoulder. “Loki, steady down! What would the others think if you returned unbound?” Thor demands, and deep within him Loki knows he is right. 

Yet, his anger is still too fresh, and it burns too hot to yield yet. “Fine! Give the command then after your return! Establish some equality of treatment, for once!” Loki snaps, but even while his speaks the words, he knows it is impossible. 

Each and every step Thor could take to get the bracelets off Loki could and would always indicate their relationship or Loki’s special position. Frustrated, he shuts his eyes and takes a deep breath before he lets himself sink into Thor’s grip. “Fine. Just do it,” Loki snaps. 

Distantly, he feels Thor’s hands trace his first wrist, the cold touch of metal around it and the suffocating pressure of the binding spell. It feels like his whole body is going numb. Desperation claws at his entrails. “After all this time, after all I have done for you, you still don’t trust me,” Loki states, poisonous, as the second bracelet snaps closed, reopening his eyes. 

The first thing he sees is the hurt look in Thor’s eyes, and it is nearly enough to pierce the numbing veil around Loki’s mind. Half-hearted Loki tries to tug himself from Thor’s grip, but Thor only pulls him closer with a distraught sound. 

“I promise these will come off eventually,” Thor says softly. “Until then, just state your wishes and I will provide whatever you want, if I can.” 

Tired of fighting, Loki lets himself sink into Thor’s embrace, silent tears running down his cheeks. Distantly, he feels Thor curl his arms around him, pressing Loki’s face against the warm surface of his armor. As they stand at the edge of the town, Thor’s stormy scent, the warm heaving of his breastplate with every breath he takes and his firm grip around Loki shielding him from all of Asgard like a barrier, calming Loki’s distraught thoughts. 

Some amount of time later, Loki feels Thor shifting. One of his arms is lifted, and there’s the quick prickle of short hair against his wrist and a soft rub against his back. 

“We need to go back,” Thor whispers, his voice somehow off. Loki nods silently and backs off, wiping his face quickly. Thor rights first Loki’s and then his own hood, and they descent into the warren of the town.

* * *

It’s just after dinner-time when they return to the small square, simultaneously greeted and pierced by Freyja’s glare. Thor’s stomach somehow manages to drop even further. 

“This can’t be what you understand as quick, your highness. You better prepare to compensate for my trouble,” Freyja announces in a honeyed voice as she guides Loki away. 

Thor smiles at her brightly, hoping to conceal his nervous shiver. Right. He nearly forgot his promise while basking in Loki’s innocent, thrilling presence. If there was one thing he didn’t want to do right now, it was being questioned by Freyja. 

The day had been a wild ride in terms of feelings, and Freyja had a cursed talent to lay a finger in wounds he wasn’t even aware of. All the worse, when she forced him to talk about those things, her counsel was even helpful, he had to admit grudgingly. But that didn’t make him wish for it. Not at all. 

Silently cursing, he wishes there would have been another way to get Loki out of the (thanks to the former activities of the conspirators) highly guarded harem. But under the circumstances – mainly the pressure of time to reach the gap before the traces of seidr were faded – he didn’t come up with one. 

Having given him one last long look, Freyja vanishes into the palace, leaving Thor with an increased pulse and the urge to avoid her henceforth. But how could he do that? 

The light on the estates and the palace turns golden as the sun slowly sinks behind the horizon. _Enough time wasted!_ He needs to find a way out of his promise. And his incited appetite. 

Surely, Thor’s meal would have been served in the royal chambers of his father along the ones for the Allfather and his queen. Of course, it would await him there for at least few hours before servants would take it back, but Thor fears to go there. 

First, because it would be right were Freyja would come looking for him. Second, because his parents, wont to enjoy a private drink during the evenings, would surely engage in conversation, thereby thwarting his escape. 

So he aims for the cooking halls further below in the palace. Each step feels haunted. Or perhaps it only seems longer to him because he is imagining Freyja’s soft steps behind each corner. Upon his arrival, Thor’s mouth waters from the delicious scents which remain in the halls long after all the meals are delivered. 

As he barges in, the laughter sounding from within the kitchens comes to a sudden halt and seven pairs of eyes widen. Before any of the servants can find their voices, Thor recognizes a pleasantly familiar face among them and a sudden idea forms. 

“Ullr! What a fortunate coincidence. I shall need your assistance once more!” Thor grins as he walks towards a table and quickly gathers half a loaf of bread, a small wheel of cheese and some fruit into an unused towel. Quickly he bundles his prey and indicates Ullr to follow him into the hallway. 

“Listen carefully!” Thor urges while walking towards his chambers. “I need you to follow me the next days without attracting attention. You need to keep watch for Lady Freyja. If she approaches me you are to wait for a moment before joining us and informing me of something of utter importance I need to attend without delay!” 

Thor can’t see the startled look on Ullr’s face, who does his best to keep up with the long strides of the king. Only after Thor shifts to meet Ullr’s gaze, the boy rashly nods. 

“Perfect. Tell the guards I retired for today and do not wish to be disturbed.” Thor orders when they reach his chambers. “Especially not by Lady Freyja!” Ullr bows, gulping, and Thor slips into his rooms. Only after the door snaps shut does he exhale deeply, his back pressed to the reassuringly solid wood. 

He curses. This was ridiculous. He was king of Asgard and of the eight more realms, too. And yet, he hides in his chambers like a boy afraid of punishment. 

He snorts. It was indeed ridiculous. Even if she cornered him, he could simply command her to leave. She wouldn’t dare to defy his orders! He was the king! He would NOT be forced to reveal anything to anyone. 

“You brought a gift! Now that is nice of you.”

He freezes. A feeling of doom settles in his guts. He swallows. 

“Freyja,” Thor breathes weakly. 

There she sits in front of his fire, in all her unworldly beauty. “Who else?” she asks innocently, pulling her chair to the table as she eyes Thor’s bundle eagerly. 

Slowly, he releases his hold breath. He vowed to give an explanation. Nothing more. An attack on the weapons vault, conspirators within his ranks, portals to distant realms. That would surely count as such, wouldn’t it? She would get what she came for and leave him. No reason to endanger a centuries old friendship with rudeness. 

With little ceremony, he drops the bundle onto the table and smooth’s the towel to make an improvised table cloth, unveiling his plunder from the kitchens. Freyja’s bell-like laughter rips him from his thoughts. 

“Why did you bring five Avocados?” Freyja chuckles. 

“They looked delicious.” Thor retorts defensively. The truth was he had spent little to no attention. He didn’t even plan to share his meal, he notices sourly, while starting to cut cheese and bread into portions with a paper knife. 

A while later, after he is finally settled into a second chair and both of them are savoring their cheese and bread while chattering about minor things, his sin catches up with him. 

“So, what about the boy?” Freyja asks casually, the light of the small fire illuminating her shut eye lids. 

“Um,” Thor says awkwardly before regaining his composure. “You mean what about the expedition?”

Freyja’s lips twitch like a smile had tried to conquer them but had been quickly struck back. Thor swallows and looks bashfully at the ground. 

“I do not like to admit it,” Thor begins. Again, her lips twitch. 

“It seems there are traitors within my ranks.” he continues, and her face hardens. And so he tells her starting with the attack on the vault and carefully downplaying Loki’s part in the investigation, mentioning him solely in his role as advisor. His memories of their last talk involving Thor’s acquaintances much too fresh and awkward. 

When he is finished, she chews absentmindedly on her lower lip, staring into the fire. 

“So, what do you think?” Thor asks. 

“I am unsure, yet,” Freyja ponders. “What do they want? Inflame war between Asgard and Jotunheim, so much is clear. But why? Jotunheim is a broken realm with nothing to be gained. If they simply want war, Malekith would surely be a more apparent opponent.” 

Thor nods silently. “Loki thinks they might try to manipulate the Jotunns into helping Malekith.” Thor only realizes his mistake when her eyes snap back to his, a nearly invisible smile playing around the corners of her eyes. 

“Or they want to support Alflyse without being too obvious, by removing Malekith’s potential allies,” Freyja adds for consideration. 

Thor groans. 

“I shall write to Odr asking for his opinion on Malekith’s position,” she adds, lifting a hand to cut off Thor’s objection before he is able to voice it. “…Without mentioning any of what you told me, of course!”

Thor huffs but eventually nods. 

As the silence expands, he feels her gaze on him and meets it reluctantly. “What?”

“Regardless, I think he might not be wrong. Whatever is played here, it aims at you as much as it aims at Jotunheim. Speaking of which – tell me more about this Loki,” Freyja says, an amused sparkle returning to her eyes. 

“There is nothing to tell,” Thor grumbles, and scowls at her. “I hear you are spending your days at the harem. Why don’t you tell me?” 

She chuckles. “So, there is more to it! I like his wits … and …” Freyja’s gaze drifts into the distance and a sudden anger erupts in Thor. “What!?” Thor sneers before he can restrain himself. 

Freyja’s surprise is quickly covered by unveiled awe and amusement. “… and there is something mysterious to him. Do you know where he comes from?” She gives him a scolding glance. “And don’t you get all possessive about him for nothing. He will be yours alone soon enough.” 

The image in Thor’s mind alone dries his mouth, but the underlying message drives the blood into his cheeks as if he were a boy again. “I am… I … no. What are you implying?” he stutters, eyes wide. 

This time the surprise remains longer before making room for a caring smile. “Oh, Thor. Even for me it’s obvious you have a crush. Don’t you plan to choose him?” 

Thor takes a few breaths through his nose before answering. This is exactly the kind of conversation he did NOT want to have tonight. He groans. 

“I can’t decide who to choose before even meeting most of them! That would hardly be fair.” 

Freyja only smiles at him, waiting for him to go on, obviously. Thor lifts a hand to ruffle his hair but reconsiders and swipes his face instead. “It’s complicated, ok? I am not stupid. I know those youth had no option when Tyr came for them and they had him put in chains. I see his struggle and even though I admit a little … attraction...” Thor swallows, lost in thought for a heartbeat. “… I know I can’t decide for him. So I just have to be prepared for him to deny me and leave.” 

Yes. That was it. A good explanation, no further discussion needed. A drop of sweat runs down his spine as he lifts his eyes from the floor. 

Freyja hums. “So you plan on letting your chosen one decide? That is noble of you.” 

Thor shrugs awkwardly. On second thought, the idea Loki could deny him seems frightening. But then again: who would deny the king of the nine realms? 

“So you haven’t actually asked for his opinion?” Freyja asks sweetly. Thor wants to scream. He grits his teeth. 

“No!” Thor hisses. “Ah, come on! I don’t know what you are expecting! A king. Of Asgard. Choosing another man. As spouse! It would be unprecedented!” Thor throws his hands up in anger. “I don’t know what mother even thought when including dual sexed boys!” 

Freyja’s laughter rings in his ears like a bell, rising the heat in his cheeks threatens to burn his face away. 

“Oh, Thor!” she chuckles, wiping a tear from her eye as she started it finally calmed down. “This is worse than I imagined. You really needed this talk.” 

Smoldering, he rises and stomps over to his shelf where a selection of gifted vine is exhibited. He picks a random bottle and uncorks it. “I need to be left in peace,” He growls as he returns, but Freyja only gives him a compassionate look. 

“So you would just let him return home after this year?” She asks. 

The thought alone is frightening. “No,” Thor retorts unsteadily. “No. I already decided to keep him here. Just. You know… as an advisor. His understanding of magic is useful.” That was good. Nobody could object capable advice. 

But Freyja’s eyes narrow instantaneously. “No! This is no matter you could do by halves! You keep him here, staring at his back, having your wife see your desire and feel the rejection? Nobody could live this way. Soon enough she would become the next Jarnsaxa.” Thor presses his eyes shut. 

“You better make your peace with marrying him or parting for good,” Freyja declares, and even though he can’t see her eyes, he feels her glare. He exhales through gritted teeth. 

“But why all these excuses?” Freyja asks softly. “Do you doubt his attraction?” Thor swallows dryly. Until this very morning, he would have been unsure, but now… He had seen Loki blush when he pressed him against this cave-wall; he had even toyed with him enough to trigger a more physical reaction. A smile tugs at his mouth. No, attraction wasn’t the part he doubted. 

Well, even without the fact that Loki seemed way more boy than girl and the scandal, there was even more reason to doubt. Thor’s time with Jarnsaxa had been heated and wild until the fires were gone and they were left with nothing but ashes. He couldn’t relive that another time. Not with Loki. And he was so bloody young still. 

And an unruly youth, furthermore. Sure – right now, this all might be exciting for him. Playing with the mighty king, living in the palace and meddling with the conspiracy. But after some years of royal duty? Who could say what would be then? Jarnsaxa have had a certain idea what she would be in for, and still the royal routines drained the life out of their relationship. 

But Loki? He might get bored or fed up. A boy from the east town such as him would dream about elevating his status far enough to life in a better part of the city at the very most. Or to become a merchant to adventure the nine realms. What would someone like him know of serving the people? The burden would crush him. 

“It’s too soon to decide anything,” he says softly. 

She hums. “So, where does he come from?”

“The south-east market,” Thor answers, taciturn, and Freyja hums again. 

“I would like to learn more about him. Do you know about his friends? Someone who could tell me something?” 

Thor twists his mouth. It couldn’t be disclaimed Freyja’s methods rendered great results, but he still preferred the straight forward way. 

“His uncle works for Eir.” After receiving a frown, Thor adds, “He raised him. His parents are dead.” 

“Both? What did they die from?” 

Thor frowns. Why didn’t he ask Loki that? 

“But anyway - I was more thinking about friends than family,” Freyja reminds him. 

Thor chuckles. “Well, his best friend visits whenever his uncle works. But he won’t tell you much.” On Freyja’s suspicious expression he tells her about Svardilfari and soon her laughter sounds through his chambers.

* * *

The door of the front hall falls shut with a wooden thud, re-erecting the barrier between the shadows of the palace grounds and the warm lights of the harem. The frivolous sounds of the girls dining, chatting and bickering in the kitchen barely reaches through the fog of Loki’s mind as he makes his way to join them, still painfully reminiscing the forest, the joy of using his unbound seidr and Thor’s words. 

At first he doesn’t realize how all conversations run dry and how more and more eyes follow him when he enters the kitchens. He follows the delicious smell to a big pot of soup positioned beside two loafs of bread and a small hill of sparkling red and green vegetables. 

But when he finished filling a bowl with a generous amount of soup, two slices of bread balancing on the rim, and has to decide where to sit, it becomes utterly obvious that he has the full, undivided attention of the room. He feels the heat rising in his face as he searches for the safest place. A grin on Lorelei’s face makes it obvious how futile his attempts to avoid the pending questioning are. 

Unwilling to surrender, he straights his shoulders and heads to the table where Balder and Skadi are sitting, eying him with concern and a disquieting glint, respectively. Just then he notices Sigyn sitting with them, eyes reddened and face pale. 

He grants them a thin-lipped smile, the rustle of his clothes surreally loud in the silence of the kitchen as he settles on the last chair. Well, if they want to listen to everything he does, they may do as they will, he decides, and starts slurping the soup as ostentatiously as possible. 

A chuckle he recognizes as Lorelei’s breaks the silence. 

“Ah, come on! What did she made you do?!” Lorelei demands. 

“None of your business,” Loki huffs, quickly reviewing possible explanations. 

“Ow,” Amora’s smug voice resounds in the room, “you had to do something gross, right? Please tell me you had to clean the palace kitchens!” 

Loki only snorts, but now more and more guesses are thrown into the room. 

“Did you massage her feet?”

“Or clean her floor while she watched?” 

“I have heard Lady Freyja has the preemptive right on everyone because she is the goddess of love,” Glut whispers so loudly that there is no chance to miss it. Loki snaps his head up, piercing her with a glare. She meets his eyes priggishly. 

“Fine! She asked why I had to wear _those_ while no one else has to.” Loki snaps, shaking his wrist with the attached bracelet. “I told her, we discussed magic and time flew. She brought me back and here I am. Satisfied?” 

There is not one face showing satisfaction and Loki returns to his meal, burring his teeth in soft bread. 

“I don’t believe you,” Lorelei teases. 

“Fine with me,” Loki retorts. 

Amora snarls, her voice clearly heard by everyone, “You lie a lot, as it seems.” 

Loki’s hand clenches around his spoon. “What do you want to hear!?” he hisses. “That she brought me to a secret stroll through the forest with the king?” 

“Enough!” Skadi’s harsh voice cuts through the swell of voices. “All of you are free to doubt his answer, but nagging is no behavior for a queen!” 

Despite his rapid heartbeat, Loki takes care not to look up from his bowl until Skadi finishes shutting up the room. Surprisingly, it takes only two girls Skadi scolds individually for calling more questions out before the others give up and scatter grudgingly. 

Granted - stating the truth had been a bold move, but it seems to pay off. When Loki finally dares to lift his gaze, only Balder and Sigyn remain in the kitchen. Balder’s expression seems tense beneath his casual cheerfulness. Sigyn however, quickly looks away when he meets her eyes, and swipes her face rashly with her forearm, leaving dark line across the flowing fabric. 

And that’s not even all of it. Her carefully manicured nails are fringed on her left hand, as if she had chewed on them. Loki feels a stab of guilt. So much had happened to him in such a short time, he had simply lost track of Sigyn.

Not that he was obliged, but still an undefined guilt lingered on him for denying her when she voiced her feelings. He wishes he could help her, simultaneously knowing his presence and care might even deepen her pain. And even without that – he didn’t really know what to say. 

For all the missed opportunities his life with none but Angrboda was filled with, it _had_ spared him of this kind of conflict, he suddenly realizes. He stares into his empty bowl, pondering if he was being blessed or cursed because of that.

“Are you coming?” Sigyn asks with a tremor in her voice. Loki looks up in surprise. 

He nods and follows her, not noticing Balder’s frown behind them. But instead of her room, Sigyn strolls straightly into his room, Loki following her in rising confusion and a dawning feeling of doom. Now, with the fright declining, his limbs ache as if he spent the day running. No single fiber of his body was eager to add a quarrel-solving talk to his day. 

But the moment the door falls shut behind them, she throws herself at him, sobbing. Stunned, he rubs her back awkwardly. 

He gulps, searching for something to say, but he can’t fathom why she wanted him here, providing a shoulder. He denied her. Hurt, anger, hate, even the silent-treatment, he would have understood. Wouldn’t his presence, especially such close, add to her despair? 

After a while she calms down, resting her face in a spot on his shoulder, taking a deep breath. 

“Are you …” she starts, voice hoarse. “I… I understand, if you don’t want to talk. But please just tell me: are you ok?” 

He stifles a disbelieving laughter. “What are you talking about?” He asks once he can be sure his voice sounds of nothing but sad confusion. “I would wish to keep you as a friend, but…” He starts, but she hushes him impatiently, eyes flashing with anger. 

“Are you dense? I was dying of worry while you were gone! Don’t tell me that you were literally the only one in the whole room who didn’t realize how threatening her words sounded!”

He can’t help it - he dissolves into helpless giggles, tears flooding his eyes. The day was so unimaginable long and worrisome. He felt so alone and on the edge, but here they were: He and the one person on Asgard who was even less in control of her fate than he was; the one he turned down the last time they spoke. And yet she worried the day away on which he was allowed to leave their joined prison to spend in the company of the very king. 

And now she looks at him as if he lost it. He hugs her firmly. 

“I don’t deserve you,” he breathes as soon as he is able to. Everything seems surreal. “I thank you. And yes, I am well now. I wish I could give you more than my gratitude.” 

She blushes and shrugs awkwardly. “I… I… it’s ok. I accept your decision.” 

Even more relief floods through him and adds to the ache of his legs. Tired, he drags them to the bed and crumbles on it, laying with his legs hanging from the edge while she sits, elbows resting on her knees. 

“Though, honestly, there is one thing I don’t understand,” she continues after a while, gaze down. “Why _do_ you compete, now?”

He swallows. 

“I realized something,” Loki starts awkwardly. He doesn’t want to lie to her, but the truth is of the table. “Being queen is not mainly about one self’s desires. It’s about helping the king, to give him perspective so he doesn’t act with precipitation.” He falters, before continuing, “What if it’s my call to help the ones the king wouldn’t consider worth helping on his own?” 

Sigyn, who had been listening wide-eyed, avoids his hopeful eyes by staring to her nestling hands in her lap. 

“That’s a noble cause… I guess,” Sigyn finally acknowledges. “And therefore you would sacrifice your freedom and live with the king for the rest of your life?” 

Loki feels heat rising and presses his face sideways into the blanket to hide his embarrassed smile. When she turns to him, her visible confusion gives way to surprise. He groans clasping the hands before his face. 

“What? You are into him, now?!” she gasps. 

He drops his fists, giving her a defiant glare despite his glowing face. “And if so? It’s not forbidden.” 

She laughs incredulously. “You don’t even _know_ him!” 

“They are telling us about him on a daily basis!” Loki snorts, sitting up to face her. 

“Yeah, about how we are supposed to see him!” 

“It’s not all lies!” 

“You can’t know that,” she counters and Loki bites his lip to stifle a hasty comeback as he glares at her silently. But instead of basking in her victory, her eyes widen as she stares at him. 

“You actually met him?!” she whispers, breathless, and Loki heart stops a beat. 

“No!” he snaps. He shakes his head, terrified, but it only seems to reinforce her hunch. 

“ _When_?” she demands, gripping his arm. 

“No, I …“ he starts, unknowing how to finish the sentence. 

“Today?!” Sigyn’s disdain for the king seemingly couldn’t drown her excitement for the news. 

“No!” Loki hisses in panic. 

“Oh my …” She clasps her hands to her mouth, speaking through her fingers. “Did you…?” 

Loki blinks for a moment, not understanding what she is implying, only to recoil, horrified. “What?! NO!” 

Sigyn stares at him for a few seconds, stunned. And then she suddenly dissolves into excited giggles, sheds her slippers and shifts to sitting on his bed cross-legged, facing him straightly. “Tell me!” she pleads, gripping his hand. 

“I can’t!” he cries desperately, clenching his free hand to the blanket. 

“Oh, please! I won’t tell anyone!” she begs, giving his other hand a little shake. 

“We are being _watched_ ,” he hisses, giving her a pointed look, shaking his head in the direction of the Bifrost where Heimdall keeps his watch. 

“So? He surely knows anyway!” she argues, unmoved. 

Loki is lost for words, managing solely a silent head shake. But then again – Balder and Skadi knew, too, didn’t they? The loneliness of the last few weeks rises in his throat like bile. It was unfair, wasn’t it? That Thor alone should be entitled to choose who is invited into the informed circle. One person, Loki decides. He must be allowed to select one – only one - whom he trusts. 

He swallows. “You must promise! Nobody may know,” he whispers, trembling. 

And so he tells her, hesitantly at first, carefully leaving out the conspirators, and downplaying the prickling in his belly on all those occasions the meetings with Thor had left him infuriated, confused and/or squirming. 

Sigyn hangs on his every word, eyes widening, blushing shyly or gasping at all the right moments. To Loki, it is like his bracelets are removed once more. However, as the tension dissolves, the tiredness prevails. 

He snaps his head up, realizing she just said something. “What?”

She blushes. “I … uh… just. You know?” 

“What?” he repeats blinking slowly. 

She blushes. “Are you intentionally making this hard for me?” She complains. 

Perhaps she is also pouting. He can’t tell through his palms, rubbing his eyes. When he recovers his sight, she is wringing her hands. 

“I just… You like him, like … you know … a boyfriend? When you picture you two together, you see yourself as … you know … the _queen_?” she says, intonating the last word in a way the double meaning is unmistakable. If he sees himself as the female. The queen. _Ergi_. 

“NO!” he snaps and she recoils. “That is NOT what I was talking about! IF he wants me, he has to accept me how I am. I am NOT turning myself into a _girl_ for him.” His hands are shaking now, his voice dripping of distain. So many times he had been called ergi as an insult, but hearing it (even if she didn’t use the word, the thought was clear enough) from Sigyn cuts so much deeper. 

Did her face turn to stone for a second? But then she grabs his hand. “Of course! I am sorry. I didn’t mean you had to change for that.” She soothes, her gaze kept down. 

Loki groans. He feels so tired his head hurts. He wants to hug her, to apologize, and ask her to let him sleep. Letting himself fall backwards onto the covers suddenly seems the most reasonable thing to do. He closes his eyes. Just for a second. 

Distantly, he feels her detangling his limbs, spreading him on the bed in a comfortable position, before a lulling warmth covers everything.

* * *

It becomes more and more tempting just to stare at the fading flames of the fire as the wine gets to Thor’s head. Even Freyja seems to doze off judging by her descending rate of embarrassments she tortures him with. He sinks into the warmth and comforting memories. 

“Aren’t you curious how it is to bed him because of his dual-sex?” Freyja wonders absentmindedly. 

The thrill of the thought hits him like a wave, dispersing the coziness. ‘No!’ he wants to snap. But Freyja knows him too well. She would know the lie when he answers to quickly. So he forces himself to think it through, despite the uneasiness. 

“I don’t know.” He shoots a half-hearted glare at her. “It just seems…” He is at loss for words. 

“Wrong?” she helps him sweetly. “Awkward? New?” 

“No. No… just. I know how to please the maidens well enough. But he… he…” He shrugs, desperately in the search for the right words despite of his off-trailing thoughts. Imagining Loki laid out on Thor’s bed, blushing with a defiant glare, doesn’t help his concentration a bit. 

“Don’t tell me you don’t know how to pleasure yourself,” she deadpans. 

He nearly throws his goblet at her and she flinches, laughing. When her laughter ceases she rises, giving him a playful pat on the shoulder. “It’s growing late. Tell me when you finish thinking about it,” she tells him with a mischievous grin. 

The door closes behind her, and suddenly the cracking of the fire seems disturbingly loud. Cursing her silently, Thor gathers himself up and drags himself to his bedchamber, leaving a trail of clothes behind. Washing himself quickly instead of collapsing instantly on his covers must be his biggest victory of the week. 

Finally he is stretched out, tucked in and ready to surrender to the soft embrace of his bed. Embers crack in the next room. 

The soft evening breeze caresses his face, carrying the whispers of tree leaves. A breeze like the one in the gorge, playing with Loki’s curls when Thor made him blush like the untainted boy he was. 

He turns to his side. 

He rolls over to his back again. 

Outside, a night bird hoots. 

How wide Loki’s eye had been, when they stood pressed against each other in that notch. A soft chuckle escapes Thor’s throat. Admittedly – arousing him wasn’t Thor’s objective at that time, but it had been marvelous. To feel him trembling under his hands, smelling the flowery flavor of his hair, and beneath that Loki’s very own scent. Thor grins. 

It had been unmistakable. Until now he’d never been sure. But today Loki had been aroused, that much was sure. And embarrassed about it. Thor bites his lips to stifle a delighted laughter. Absentmindedly, his hand finds his hardened cock beneath the covers. 

How sweet Loki had looked enduring the closeness fighting his very own desires. Heat rises in Thor with each strike on his cock. He had to leave the notch than. The temptation was getting to him. He knew, he could have … _tasted_ … Loki there.

He couldn’t break his vow, of course. But there were other possibilities. He could have kissed him, see him blush and writhe under Thor’s hands. He could have stripped him naked in this gorge, explored his body, feeling him tremble and moan until finally surrendering to Thor.

Thor knows how mind-blowing his abilities are when it comes to please a maiden with his hands and mouth. Even though he prefers them beneath him, legs clasped around him, seeing them slowly come apart under his touch had always been a delight. Especially with the cheeky ones. 

His grin grows wolfish. He pictures Loki laying on his back on Thor’s cape in the cave, holding up his upper body with his arms, when he watches Thor breathlessly strip the flimsy leggings from his legs. He imagines the tremor under Thor’s fingers when he slides his hands upwards on the inside of Loki’s thighs. The small gasps, when he spreads Loki’s legs… 

Curse Freyja and her wicked tongue to put those images in Thor’s mind! He swears. Only because of her he is now thinking how Loki’s private parts might look like. Thor’s cock is confused. 

Technically, Loki must have a pussy. How else would he be able to perform the female part of sex, not to mention childbirth? But for a similar reason he must have a cock, too. A blush creeps into Thor’s cheeks thinking about touching Loki, caressing his skin just to retreat from his cock, like an overwhelmed virgin. Oh, that would be hilarious to Loki, Thor imagines sourly. 

Thor can almost see him standing there with nothing on but his skin. Loki’s looking down on him, an amused smile playing upon his lips, teasing Thor knowing the king himself would back off. 

Anger boils away his blush.

Oh no. 

He would not let the sassy little sorcerer make a fool out of him. Thor would grab him, lay him on his back, securing Loki’s wrists with his’, tasting Loki’s flesh with his mouth. 

Oh, how valiantly Loki would fight him, squirming and writhing beneath him to conceal his other part, getting wetter in the progress. He would rear up, staring at Thor with all defiance he could gather. But Thor would wait for him, let Loki test his strength, teasing him with licks and tender bites, chuckling softly at his futile efforts. 

And eventually Loki would submit to him, like he did in the cave. He would tremble when Thor would gather his wrists in one hand, stroking the other down on him in circles and waved lines until Loki would gasp in anticipation.

Perhaps he would whine softly when Thor would spread his legs, revealing his leaking folds, knowing what would come next. But first, Thor would taste his mouth, hum so deeply into his neck, stretching the time until Loki would plead for him to take him. 

Perhaps he would do it. Or he could tease him just a little longer, making it plain Loki would be Thor’s, including the decision when and how he would be pleasured. Just to see the anger flash behind those sparkling green eyes. 

And then, finally, Thor would take his cock in hand, rubbing it over the hot wetness between Loki’s legs, kissing him deeply while he pushes in slowly. He can nearly feel Loki’s hands clasp painfully to his shoulders; feel the gasping beneath him, as he stretches Loki. 

Oh, Loki would moan. Thor knew how strongly virgins feel the first ride. If he would feel generous, he would let Loki adapt, calm and relax before moving. He would go slowly at first, but deep, burying himself balls deep into the little sorcerer, basking in every gasp and little sound Loki would breathe thereby. 

Eventually he would speed up, setting a strong pace, putting one of Loki’s knees over his elbow lifting his hip to a better angle. Loki would cry out, bucking and clawing into the covers. His eyes would be wide and dark when their gazes would met right before he would come, allowing Thor to take him over the edge by gripping Loki’s dick while riding him in a few strong pushes. 

Thor comes, too, thinking of Loki’s cry of pleasure and his spasming muscles around Thor’s cock. Panting, he lays there, the afterglow calming his racing heartbeat. Perhaps Loki was worth the scandal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It took ages, but I finally finished another chapter! ^.^ Please leave a comment! 
> 
> (Pleaase! I need feedback! I am starving for it! *lets small bubbles of hope emerge from the hiding place under the bed*)


	4. Chapter 4

Wind howls and drives snow and hail almost horizontally through the air just outside the cave. A lone figure stands shrouded in a cloud of white fog, a warm and sticky breath of Asgardian air quickly dissipating. 

He lets the glamour fall. 

The cave shrinks around him as his shoulders and back expand and unfold. His body stretches after nearly two decades of concealment. Finally his blood flows untrammeled. A prickle as if by pins and needles runs over his limps. 

He slips out of the Asgardian attire, folds and hides it in a gap in the ice outside the cave. It’s too high for any Asgardian or Dark elf to find by change. He sighs softly and rests his head against the ice, feeling the welcoming cold soothe his skin. He has bared seventeen years of never ending heat. It feels good to be home again. 

But instantly a sharp stitch of regret pierces him. He shouldn’t be here. Not without Loki. Not before he is of age. 

Thinking of his nephew’s tense voice when he talked about the portal, the conspirators and his concerns what they might plan, Angrboda squares his shoulders. He promised to look into this and he would. 

He rushes towards Utgard. It should not take longer than an hour this time of the year, as the deepest winter-frost has hardened the snow. He steps to the rim and jumps. When his feet meet the solid frozen snow they slide. It feels so easy and weightless to be carried by the ice. 

He suddenly becomes aware how much he missed the realm of winter. 

But time is of the essence. Luckily he doesn’t have to worry about caving in dunes of fresh snow thanks to the winter season. Utgard waits for him. 

But when he gets there, the streets and walls seem deserted. 

Suspicious. 

Angrboda frowns. Their numbers were heavily decimated at the end of the last war and the loss of the casket was a hard hit. Without it, there was no way to rein the winds to carry the rain to the hidden valleys between the glaciers. Without the scheduled rain, the harvest could be delayed and crops lost, leaving too few to feed all in need. 

Not to mention the everlasting darkness obscuring the sky. Without the casket as beacon, there was no way for the souls of the fallen to find their way back to lighten the world for the remaining. 

But neither of those things would be enough to desert the capital of all its inhabitants. Yet, it leads to another problem, Angrboda suddenly realizes. If there are only few Jotun left, every strange face would be recognized. Something to avoid by all means. 

Loki’s fate is too important to risk anyone recognizing Angrboda as the fallen king’s healer and to make the connection to the youngest prince. With a whispered word and a flick of his hand, he veils himself in a spell which clouds any observer’s gaze, making him see an average Jotun and unable to remember any remarkable clues. 

He hurries further towards the great hall on top of the cliff. And there they are.

Everywhere Jotuns perch, hidden for any untrained eye. Their blue skin disguises them as part of the broken landscape, but they’re ready to strike if necessary. Tension lies in the air. 

Soon the wind carries voices. There’s a low rumble which must be Helblindi’s, Angrboda realizes, his heart swelling. It resembles Laufey’s voice so much now. Besides, an Aesir voice rings bell-like. So the king actually kept the promise he gave his nephew, Angrboda realizes contritely. 

Urgently, Angrboda climbs the outer wall and scurries between Jotuns and broken shards of icy pillars, too fast to take proper care. Beneath his foot, pebbles break from the pillar, roll towards the edge and pull more with them as they tumble into the deep. 

He stops and presses hard against a pillar, holding his breath. Beneath him the great hall stretches from the throne pillar to the opening where Asgardian troops ripped a hole in it, years ago during the war. Yet in ruins, the scene is impressive: on the high throne Helblindi is seated, body straight and regal. His eyes are like embers. 

Before him, on the floor of the hall, four Aesir are gathered like pale drops of honey against the black stone. Three men, one woman, all clothed in traditional Asgardian armor and leather. A big chest is placed in front of them before the throne, still unopened. One of the men with black hair tied into a tail and a maze in his hand is looking at the place Angrboda is hiding. So is Helblindi. 

Angrboda presses his lips into a thin line, silently apologizing to his young king. None of the gathered Jotuns should be visible to the Aesir, and judging by their cautious expressions, this is not coincidental. But still Aesir eyes were blunt in comparison to those of Jotun. 

From his hiding place, Angrboda can see few other Jotuns, one of which stands behind an enormous shard and gives him a disapproving head shake but stays quiet, as the king further down picks up the conversation. 

“So, if it is not charges which brings you here, what then?” Helblindi’s comforting rumble resounds through the hall, the excellent acoustic not entirely destroyed along the outer walls. 

“Your grace.” The women’s voice rings sharp as a blade. “We wish to deliver his greetings and regards on account of King Thor, ruler of Asgard and protector of the nine realms. In those times of turmoil, he acknowledges your serenity and constancy that will contribute to Jotunheims glory.” 

Angrboda groans softly. As well-meaning those words might be, to mention the enforced reign of the Allfather and his son and praising the silent submission was salt in festering wounds. 

Helblindi stays silent for a time. 

“Your king has witnessed the war, as have I. He knows well enough how it stands with Jotunheims _glory_. Does he wish to sweeten his times with mockery, nowadays?” 

Pride makes Angrboda smile. There is just enough edge in Helblindi’s words to calm the rage of the hidden Jotun, but not so much to make his words a rejection. 

The big, bearded Aesir man behind the woman, who does not falter a bit, shifts uncomfortably. “I assure you, your highness, our ruler’s gratitude is wholehearted. He remembers the terrors of war as you do. Therefore he seeks to lighten the future with friendship so our realms may forever be joined in prosperity.” 

Helblindi hums. “It is said the Allfather never does anything without reason. Does King Thor differ from him in this regard? What reason is it that brings you here in just now?"

This time the blonde Aesir speaks up. Fandral is his name, as far Angrboda remembers from treating him once after a bold adventure didn’t turn out as expected. 

“Your grace, you surely didn’t intent to question our king’s reasonability? As you surely have heard, the times are troubled as Svartalfheim fights over leadership. Much too easy such turmoil might spread to other realms. Yet, our king knows of the tranquility of the Jotun that prevents your realm from such misfortune. He simply wants to honor it.” 

“Ah, so this is a warning not to get involved with Malekith?” Helblindi retorts, a hint of a smile touching his lips only to vanish as quickly. It says a lot about the Aesir that they barely flinch at Helblindi’s bluntness. 

“I wouldn’t call it a warning, your grace,” the woman answers, unrelenting. “It is as we said: a present of gratitude and a hope you will, despite the darkness of the shared history of Asgard and Jotunheim, see the advantage in keeping the link of honesty and respect to Asgard.” 

She hesitates, briefly enough that anyone lacking Angrboda’s knowledge might just take it for a breath, before continuing. “But if it should happen someone approaches you to act in Asgard’s disadvantage, be assured of his gratitude should you decide to stand faithful.” 

Helblindi eventually tilts his head. 

“Very well. I thank your king for his kind offering and assure you of our continuing fidelity. He should even be welcomed if he ever wants to bother with a visit.” 

Reluctantly the Aesir take the dismissal for as it is, bowing and retreating. Only a few steps from the forced entrance, the blond Aesir turns, boldness in his cheerful voice. “I wonder, it didn’t happen that anyone already approached you, your grace?” 

Helblindi’s snort sounds through the hall. “You wouldn’t leave here walking if I had an agreement with Asgard’s enemies, Aesir.” 

And thus they leave. When they are out of sight, one after another, hidden Jotun emerge from their hiding places. At the time the distant shine of the bifrost illuminates the sky, nearly all of them vanished to their tasks, only one or two giving Angrboda a searching look before turning away with a tiny shake of their heads or a shrug. 

Three Jotun gather around the chest to inspect the content under the wary eyes of the king. Nothing too particular, as it seems. Angrboda spots bottles of fine liquor, healing herbs and trinkets as well as exotic spices as he passes them on his way past the throne where smaller chambers flank the main hall. 

They are chambers for the royal members to retreat when the hearings are over, not for the common folk. Just before he reaches the entrance, he feels a gaze on him, and when he looks back the king’s watchful eyes meet his, narrowing in suspicion. 

Angrboda draws himself up to his full height and enters. Soon heavy steps approach. He sinks down to one knee as Helblindi enters and pulls a plate of ice before the entrance. 

“What a peculiar day on which both a group of Aesir and an unknown warrior seek my presence,” Helblindi quips. Seemingly ignoring the kneeling Jotun, Helblindi strolls to the opposite wall where many small compartments are carved into the stone.

Angrboda can’t feign a small smile regarding the obvious test and stays silent. It’s a shame Loki isn’t here. Helblindi takes something out of one compartment and returns to Angrboda. 

“So, tell me – where do you come from that I have never seen you in Utgard? It must be a barbaric place if they didn’t teach you how to climb a wall without causing an avalanche.” 

“Asgard, my king,” Angrboda answers, facing Helblindi’s knees and feeling a mix of guilt and amusement. Silently he lets the spell fall. Helblindi’s boisterous laughter fills the room. He staggers back to a desk to rest his weight on. 

“You are amusing, stranger. I give you that. And now speak the truth so I can decipher the meaning of all this.” 

He is still grinning when Angrboda lifts his gaze. Helblindi’s expression freezes in an instant. Than all color is drawn from his face. “No,” Helblindi breathes. 

Before Helblindi is claimed by overhasty emotions Angrboda quickly explains, “My king, the third prince is undiscovered and of good health.” 

Helblindi takes a deep breath before he heavily puts down the objects he collected earlier: a flask of fine berry wine and a single cup. The king’s face is still more grey than blue when he faces Angrboda again. 

“So, there is more to the Aesir’s quest. Exactly as I feared,” Helblindi concludes gravely. “What is so important you neglect my dam’s last order, Angrboda?” he questions. “And be quick about it! I nearly suffered sudden death because of you,” Helblindi adds with a grimace, clutching his breast. 

“That, my beloved king, is just a taste of what I suffered during the last decades,” Angrboda laments, and the amused sparkle returns to Helblindi’s eyes. 

With a huff Angrboda starts talking. “But you are right. King Thor is facing a conspiracy aiming to entangle Asgard in a war, seemingly by setting him against Jotunheim. It is possible Malekith or Queen Alflyse are involved in this, but I can’t say for sure who exactly.” 

Helblindi frowns. “How would they benefit of a war between Asgard and Jotunheim?” 

“I don’t know for sure. It might just hinder Asgard from intervening on Svartalfheim. Another option is they want to make friends among Asgard’s enemies. The more hatred against the golden realm, the less they have to offer to get support.” 

Helblindi absentmindedly fetches another cup and pours the wine. Only when he offers one to Angrboda do their gazes meet. Worry is written on the young king’s face. 

“There already was a messenger, was there?” Angrboda asks, the answer obvious. 

“Yes” Helblindi sighs. “I denied him, of course. In hindsight I should have distrusted him even more. I could have slipped him a sunstone; make sure to be informed about his further steps” he adds with an annoyed glance at Angrboda’s tense stare. “You are right: Malekith tries to gain supporters outside of Svartalfheim. But with you and our brother on Asgard it was out of the question.”

Angrboda sighs in relief. But Helblindi’s face remains worried. He stares at the floor for several minutes until he speaks again. 

“Yet, I fear the danger has not passed. My rule is not undisputed. Hunger and shame incited hatred in many who do not longer wish to comply Asgard’s rule.” An unpleasant apprehension buds in Angrboda. 

“Byleistr is among them, giving them enough foundation to question my leadership.” And suddenly uncertainty shines through Helblindi’s carefully forged shell of confidence and tranquility. 

“He is… bitter,” Helblindi continues. “As are many others. They gathered in a village close of the highlands. Perhaps even in the sacred caves where our ancestors worshipped Ymir. I allowed it, seeing no reason to enforce more rules, antagonizing them further, and hoped time would calm their uproar. But now I cannot rule out the messenger might have approached them as well.” 

“The highlands!” Angrboda sucks in a breath. “There were portals discovered on Svardalfheim, connecting realms. King Thor discovered one as well, connecting Asgard and Jotunheim. I used it to come here. It is located at the rim of the highlands.” 

They share a grim moment of consideration. 

“I will rule them in at once,” Helblindi declares grimly. “They will not fight their own kin for the sake of those elves.” 

“Good.” Angrboda sighs. “Let us hope no pebble shakes the avalanche awake, before you succeed.” 

 

* * *

The peach stone bounces off the tabletop bin, wobbles over the table and eventually falls over the edge. Grinning, Thor devours another fruit. This time the stone finds its designated resting place. 

He chuckles. Everything is perfect. The sun is shining, and most of all – he already fulfilled everything he promised: Sif and the warriors three are sent to Jotunheim, bearing gifts. If Freyja ambushes him, there will be no question he can’t answer. 

In fact, he considers, he should spread his lifted mood. After all, it was huge step forward that they found the portal and even witnessed that dark elf talk Vinar into something he obviously didn’t approve of. 

He should reward Loki somehow for his help, Thor decides. But how? A gift! Sweets? Loki certainly looks like a picky eater, judging by his slim waist and slender form. He should have inquired what he preferred! Sweets or savory snacks? Thor grimaces. Food might be a tricky gift, after all. Furthermore, he would prefer some longer-lasting gift. 

A pet, perhaps? Loki always connected so deeply with those creatures. But anything big or exotic is out of the question. If asked where it is from, Loki needs to be able to come up with a believable explanation. 

Perhaps some animal he could claim to have caught in the garden of the harem? Thinking of what would fit Loki best, he gets an idea. Grinning while swiping his hands with a napkin, he sets off towards the stables to give instructions. 

When finished, only the council meeting is left of his duties for today. But before that, there is still enough time left to visit Heimdall, he decides. 

Naturally, the gatekeeper awaits him when his feet connect with the bifrost, Mjolnir in hand. 

“My king,” comes the solemn salute, as always. 

Thor nods. “Heimdall! Is there anything from Jotunheim or the conspirators?” he asks lightly. 

“Not much, my king. Your messengers are still on their way and neither Vinar nor Njord are occupied with unusual activities. But there is something else you should know of.” The gate-keepers voice is grave. 

When Heimdall is done talking, Thor stares into the starlit void that reflects the hollow feeling within him. “The girl’s name is Sigyn?” 

“Yes.” 

“How likely will she share the secret?” 

“It is unlikely. Loki is her only friend, as she is his as well. She wasn’t visited so far.” 

Thor hums softly. This was unexpected. And troubling. “I didn’t realize those youth can be so lonely while there are two dozen of them.” 

Heimdall tilts his head. “The rivalry divides them.” 

No, he decides. Thor doesn’t want to strip Loki of his only friend in the harem. Not as long it isn’t truly necessary. “Tell me immediately if it seems the secret is to be told to anybody else.” 

He turn to leave, but Heimdall stops him. “One last thing, my king.” Thor eyes him curious, but Heimdalls gaze is aimed at something far away. 

“A messenger is calling for transport from Svartalfheim. He demands a chance to talk to you and the small council.” 

Thor signs, contemplating his options. He grips Mjolnir’s handle faster. “Very well. If he intends to address the council, I will await him there.” 

 

* * *

Colorful reflections of the bifrost’s light on the rainbow bridge fade when the messenger steps onto Asgard. The elf is clothed in black fabric with silver armor covering the breast, limbs and face. Two black sockets stare hollowly from the face carved into the mask.

The messenger is greeted by Heimdall and escorted by two Einharjar to the council. With the advance of the reverberating steps, clouds gather, obscuring the ever shining sun of the realm of summer. When the messenger’s shadow finally falls through the doors of the throne room, Thor lets out a deep breath. 

Thor eyes the clouded sky gloomily. How annoying that such a small inconvenience like a messenger can strain his self-control as much. All the more important it is now to appear calm, he tells himself, and faces the elf. 

Odin stands silently, eyes slightly closed and directed towards the doors. Yet, Thor is sure he must have realized the cause for the sudden weather change as well. As much his powers are a blessing during battle, they are a curse in politics, since it ruins the best poker-face for the knowing observer. 

Finally, the messenger steps forward, sinks to a knee and removes the mask. Thor blinks. A she-elf. Dark big eyes, full lips and an expression better fitting a scholar than a warrior tell a certain message of their own. 

“Your grace, noble king of the nine realms. I greet and thank you for hearing me. My name is Mageth of Svartalfheim, and I come on account of Queen Alflyse.” She pauses with down-cast eyes. 

“Raise, Lady Mageth” Thor answers the unspoken question. “What is it Queen Alflyse wishes to ask of us?” 

She does as demanded and continues. “Your majesty, the war is claiming more and more lives of our realm. Not only as casualties but due to famine and pestilence. Not only do we grieve for our losses but as well it might affect the amount of charges we can deliver. The queen wishes to express her hope you see a shared interest in helping.”

Thor takes a deep breath. History may be as it was, but still the bluntness of the accusation in the plea was bold. 

“A fair plea. Asgard will grant you sustenance, amulet-bound healing-spells and potions,” he declares, completely aware that that’s not what she asked for. 

Expectedly, she contemplates before answering. “We wish to thank you with our most heartfelt gratitude, your grace. Yet, the source of our suffering will not run dry, as long the war rages on. The tales of Asgard’s warriors and their nobility are legendary. We hoped, our plight might seem sufficient to demonstrate it once more, to inspire songs and poems in the coming decades.” 

Thor feels his mood go sour. The smell of first rain on dusty soil drifts through the hall. He takes a moment before speaking. “So, do I understand correctly that Queen Alflyse sends you with an official plea for military support from Asgard?” he asks harshly, just to stall the inevitable. 

But, surprisingly, she pauses, defiance in her eyes. “No, your highness. The Queen fears to lose the support of the last noble houses should she call for help officially. She simply wishes….” 

“My lady Mageth. You yourself just hinted Asgard’s history. Our intervention was not always welcomed and I am well aware of our reputation. I do not desire to be remembered as an oppressor. After all, the war is just a sign of the elfin people desiring the most capable leader. A freedom I do not wish to deny them. As much it is regrettable you chose war to resolve such dispute, it is your right.” 

Anger flares from her eyes but is soon concealed when she answers, “We thank you very much for your consideration, your grace. And I agree – would it be a noble contest, no involvement would be greeted, but Malekith does not fight honorably. He uses magic to appear and strike against farmers and villagers who did not participate in the fighting. We found portals connecting distant places of Svartalfheim, and there might be more, perhaps even to other realms. This might not be limited to Svartalfheim much longer!” 

A murmur rises along the council and expressions go dark. Thor’s gaze snaps to Njord, who stares rigidly at the messenger, ignoring the unrest around him. Vinar’s eyes, however, are on Njord. Well, this was interesting! But what about the others? When he draws his eyes further, Tyr’s eyes bore into Thor’s. 

Slightly blushing, Thor refocuses back to the elf. He presses his lips to a thin line. “I understand your worries and be assured I will not underestimate the threat, Lady Mageth. I shall provide a company of Einherjar to protect the bigger villages. Refugees can retreat there.” 

“But, my king! Why do you not attack Malekith himself? He alone is the source of all this misery!”

Thor snorts. “I was led to believe he was vanished and unlocatable. Where would you have me send my warriors?” 

She hesitates, but another voice claims attention. “Your grace, there are reliable reports Malekith searched contact to Jotunheim. Perhaps…” Vinar remarks. 

“Rumors!” Thor snaps. “There was no further evidence for collaboration. Without hard facts, I will not permit warfare against another allied realm of Asgard. We shall discuss if an attack is reasonable as soon as the aim is clear, but not any earlier!” 

Thor pauses, before returning his attention to the messenger. “We thank you for bringing the issue into our focus, Lady Mageth, and wish you and Svartalfheim an imminent peace.”

She draws a breath as if to object, but then bows, once again asserting her gratitude, and leaves. Behind her the doors of the throne room fall into the lock with a clangorous bang. Thor lets out a deep breath. Around him a havoc of voices swells. 

His decision made Njord and Vinar flush with anger, how Thor notes self-complacently. With a bang of Gungir, he resolves the council meeting and rises to leave, his eyes meeting Tyr’s again. He is observing Thor’s face thoughtfully, even warily. A nervous shiver washes over Thor’s neck. With a sharp nod, he turns and leaves. 

Only outside he lets his tensed shoulders relax and focuses to calm his heartbeat. Admittedly – the conspirators would be furious now, but he didn’t break his promise to Loki. And that is the most important part, isn’t it? 

* * *

The flavor of the berry wine spreads ease and a relaxing chill in Angrboda’s chest and shoulders. He nearly forgot how fresh and clear everything felt at home. He sighs. Soon he had to depart again to get back to Asgard. 

Beside him, Helblindi answers with a similar sigh and their eyes meet. “I am grateful you came here, Angrboda. I am surrounded by advisors but none gave me advice as adjuvant as you.” He shakes his head wearily. 

Then Helblindi chuckles. “I can’t decide if you first must tell me how my sweet brother and you did fare since our departure, or how it comes that you have such detailed insight into King Thor’s affairs.” 

Angrboda feels uneasiness dispel the wine’s warmth. He gulps. He would not lie to his king. He takes a cautious sip. “Yes, about that…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I used the faith of the finno-ugric natives, the Sami, as a source for the way the casket helped lighting Jotunheim. They believe(d) the northern lights to be the souls of the dead and seeing them as bad omen. I wanted it to be a positive sign so I changed the last part. :) 
> 
> Thank you all for the nice comments!!! I live of those and get so excited each time I get a new one! So please let me know if you liked it so far.  
> That said, I would like to appoligize that I always take so long to produce. It will be better as soon as my thesis is supmitted. v_v


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Before you start - the big monster of Jotunheim we saw in Thor 1 (2011) are called "Jotunheim beast" but I decided it would be much too wierd if all those _Jotun_ on _Jotunheim_ there call them _Jotumheim_ beast... Because honestly - who would name an animal after your planet?!
> 
> So I changed the name to "mountain beast".
> 
> (Try to say something about earthworms, I dare you! I double dare you!!! -.-)

The delicious smells of baked goods and freshly pressed juice fill the air of the harem. A gust of fragrant summer air billows the drapes of the kitchen where the youth break their fast. 

Loki feels Sigyn’s gaze on him, but she doesn’t say anything. When his eyes find hers, she immediately lowers her gaze, only a hint of amusement on her twitching lips. 

“Stop it!” he warns. 

“I am not doing anything!” she protests. It would have been much more believable if it hadn’t been followed by a choked off giggle. 

“Your fruit must be the most hilarious meal ever,” he hisses. 

She bursts into laughter, unable to control herself any longer. The other girls throw them worried glances. Nearly nine months have been more than enough time for Loki to gain a certain reputation. If someone around him started laughing, he tended to be the cause of it, but never the victim. 

And even though he did have certain favorite victims, nobody was beyond the possibility of being at the receiving side. Right now however, the suspicion was unjustified. 

He rolls his eyes at Sigyn. Ever since his confession, she has been in the highest moods. At first, she was thrilled to be included in the secret. That was relatable, Loki thinks. 

When she shifted to cheering for him and his plans, it evoked a feeling of warmth and appreciation in him that only Angrboda had made him feel before. If only she would have stuck with it. He feels the heat rising to his face, cautiously avoiding her gaze, even now that she stopped giggling. 

What could be the cause that everyone enjoyed it so utterly to tease him? Of course, she still supported him. Most solemnly so, even. But whenever he seemed less self-conscious and high spirited enough to bear it, she mocked him. 

He glares at her. She bites her lip and pretends to focus on her meal. He snorts, relieved at first. But then his mind returns to Angrboda. He must be back to Asgard by now. Loki itches to know what he found out, equally thrilled and frightened to get the very first news about his brothers, in like… ever.

But Angrboda has to work of course, so he wouldn’t be able to visit until afternoon. Patience was not Loki’s favorite trade. Unknowingly, he rubs his thumb. 

“Do you sometimes picture him carrying you to his rooms, in bridal style? You know – after the binding ritual and the feast,” Sigyn whispers, and Loki nearly chokes on his pear. 

His coughing episode mixes with her laughter. “Stop it!” he hisses. 

“I can’t. Your expressions are too adorable to watch!” she purrs and rises. Most of the girls already left to gather for the morning lesson. Loki follows with a sigh. Conspirators in the council, dark elves and Aesir plotting to summon war, and he was improving his posture. 

They join the others in the garden. However, not only Skadi and Balder were waiting for them, but Freyja as well, a smirk on her lips. Better to stay in the background, Loki decides, and Sigyn seems to share his opinion, sitting down as far behind as possible. 

“Good morning, everyone,” Balder greets them cheerfully. “As you can see, we decided to change the schedule a little. It occurred to us that some points of your education could benefit from more time to process. And that is why we will start today educating you about the physical essentials for the tasks of the queen.” 

A hum of excited giggling rises around them. At the front, Freyja winks at Lorelei, who cheers openly. Loki groans while Sigyn beside him giggles despite her reddening cheeks. He gives her a warning glare which makes her bite her lip. 

But despite his instantaneous, horrible expectations, Freyja decides to start with the absolute fundamentals. Thanks to Angrboda, he knows those so well, the lecture is more than boring. The first hour he actually tries to listen to anatomical descriptions, while looking at the medical drawings, but then his mind wanders off again. 

Maybe it’s more boring for him because he had a lifetime to explore both sets of private parts. He takes a look to Sigyn and catches her rolling her eyes. So, perhaps it truly was boring. Perhaps Freyja chose this path, to dispel the hysterical giggling each time she named a body part? Yeah, that was probably it. 

Absentmindedly, he tries to imagine the next steps of the conspirators. How long until Angrboda was back? 

Besides him, Sigyn makes a strangled sound and his attention snaps back to the lesson. Freyja had replaced the anatomical drawings with an overview of several sex positions. Within an instant, he pictures himself in each position. His breath quickens. He swallows hard. 

“So, everything in the first line is easy. But as you can easily imagine, most positions of the second and third line need a certain degree of strength.” Freyja grins wickedly. “Of course, you don’t have to worry about your King’s part, but it will be well invested time to train your own muscles as well. Especially your arms and pelvis. The pelvic muscles are an outstanding tool for your and your partner’s pleasure if used skillfully.”

With that, she gestures them to sit straight. 

“So, you should get a feeling for the three layers of muscles I mentioned. At first, I just want you to tense all the muscles there, before I explain how to feel them separately.” 

Loki gives it a try and cringes. It feels weird. Strenuous in a way. And a little bit arousing. He swallows and meets Sigyn’s gaze. She blushes violently. 

“In the coming weeks, you should repeat the following exercises as often as possible. Not only will strengthen your muscles, but increase the perfusion of the organs, too,” Freyja remarks, her tone good-humored. “Perfused organs are faster and easier aroused, and men like to see their maid enjoy their attention, too.” 

Loki takes a deep breath, trying to dispel the visuals his imagination provides without being asked for it. And sensations. He shudders softly. How would it feel the Kings hand on his knee? Would he stare into Loki’s eyes like in the night in the stable? Would he kiss Loki’s ear, while his fingers explore down there? 

Loki presses his nails to his palms, using the pain to bring him back to the here and now. Meanwhile, Freyja starts explaining how a combination of tensing the sphincters and a sophisticated breathing technique could be used to generate a suction in the vagina. Half-stifled giggles come from somewhere. 

Why must Freyja’s words always create such vivid phantasies, he asks himself, pained. It nearly feels like physical pain. Well, actually it is. A sharp sting comes from below, where a bulge has formed in the skin-tight leggings. He nearly groans. Of course nobody would waste a thought to the consequences of figure-accentuating attire combined with arousing lectures on the one boy in a harem filled with girls. He bites his lip and tries to think about politics.

* * *

Home. 

Wistful, Angrboda marvels the sparkling hills, basking in the refreshing breeze petting his limbs. He strides towards the border of the highlands, already tempted to stay. He inhales deeply, letting the air flow through him, cleansing his body and calming the mind. 

Only a hint remains of the trouble he felt hours ago, when he raced in the opposite direction. Amazing how healing Jotunheim was. Just one visit to hold one conversation restored his confidence. Everything would be fine. 

Helblindi’s army would take over the mountain village on this very day and apparently the mighty King Thor actually intends to keep the promises he has given to Loki. Perhaps Loki’s plan wasn’t that futile after all. If things would proceed similarly, the future could look quite bright. Angrboda smiles faintly.

He crests the mountainside. The dark entrance of the cave beckons him from a short distance. 

He would be home before midnight, and even get some sleep before having to return to work in the palace on the morrow. Big, white flakes of snow are torn by the wind from the mountainside and sink down around him. 

Weird. 

As if Jotunheim embraces him to say farewell. He smiles and bids the nameless wind goodbye, and tugs his Asgardian attire out of its hiding place. The wind howls. 

Only when he steps into the cave, he realizes what was off before. The outside air was far too cold to hold any remaining water that could form into snowflakes. A gust of summer air hits Angrboda’s face, turns into snow, efficiently blinding him. Within the cave, he hears the wind howling through the opened portal.

And with that the torrent stops; the portal is closed.

Someone must have come. He needs to hide! 

Yet, his feet don’t move. Paralyzed, he stands in the dispersing fog. His crimson eyes meet the gaze of stone-colored ones. 

The Asgardian swears. 

Angrboda is tempted to mirror that. 

His throat dries. And he slowly moves his Asgardian attire behind the back. The Asgardian doesn’t notice; he seems still struck by Angrboda’s stare, but a second man steps out of the shadows behind him. 

Angrboda remembers him. 

He is a nobleman. One of the council. 

On the second thought, they both are. He has met them. Often. 

And they know him as well.

His cover is blown. 

The first Aesir quickly licks his lips, draws himself up to full height and fixes a supposedly commanding gaze on Angrboda. 

That was it. He couldn’t even kill them. They would be missed by the morrow, at latest. 

Flight! He needed to escape. Find Loki, get him out, and be off as quickly as possible! He still could be saved. Angrboda owes him as much. But how? The portal was behind the enemy. 

Before him, the Aesir shakes off his stupor. 

“You! Savage! We need to have words with your prince. Lead us to him at once!” The first Aesir (Vinar? Yes, Vinar was definitely his name!) commands with a trembling voice. 

Angrboda’s mind comes to a sudden halt. He stares at them, trying to make sense of the words. 

The second man moans, annoyed. “Bjorgolf! Guide. Us. To. Your. Leader!” he articulates slowly and overly emphasized. Angrboda blinks. 

“Follow me,” he eventually manages to say. Dumbstruck, he turns, mindful to keep his attire out of their sight, and strolls out of the cave. The winter breeze does not fail to calm him again. He rolls his eyes at his own needless panic attack. 

“Vinar, you can actually tell one of those monsters from the other?” he hears whispered behind. An ambiguous snort comes as an answer. 

Angrboda silently shakes his head. Now he only needs think of the route to guide them by. And how to avoid being recognized as an outsider by the rebels once they arrive. In lack of better ideas, he turns in the general direction of the closest village at the highlands, praying it to be the one Helblindi mentioned. 

Behind him, the Aesir struggle to follow. They slip even on rough ice, wade through snow which would easily bear their weights if they threaded with more care, and provide far too much target for the winds. Fools. But they eye him warily. Not the best premise to dump some evidence like Asgardian clothes. 

But he also needs to plan ahead. Byleistr might be young, but he was no fool. He saw the war with his own eyes. He wouldn’t spare guards around his lair. 

Another thought pierces Angrboda’s mind. With guiding those Aesir, he was helping them to use the second prince of Jotunheim for their hideous plots. Definitely not his desired way to act. It would presumably spare Angrboda an arrest, but the caused harm might be greater. He needs to prevent that. 

And to stay hidden. Silently grinding his teeth, he searches for the best way to act. 

At least he has plenty of time. It feels like an endless amount of time until they make it so far the village comes into view. Angrboda pauses sighing, while the Aesir struggle to close up to him, and marvels the sight. 

A rest of the awe he once felt when seeing it for the first time still lingers within him. Two enormous mountains tower side by side, divided only by a swath the wind formed over the billions of years. 

Giant glaciers float down the mountainsides, their thousands of tons of ice carried by strong icy roots up on the highlands. The mountains and the overlaying glaciers shield the swath in the middle from the cold northern winds, making it a channel for the opposing current of warm air rising from the lower plains. 

Sometimes during summer, the air gets so warm it melts ice and drags the water with it upwards before it freezes once more, creating enormous stalagmites out of ice and stone at the edges of the swath, pointing towards the highlands. 

To honor the native magic of the highlands where Yggdrasil’s power flows so strong even non-magic-wielders can feel it sometimes, a stronghold was built within the forest of spiking icicles. Carved out of the mightiest of stalagmites on both edges of the swath, the stronghold resembles two Jotun warriors, arms gripped in friendship thus connecting both sides of the swath. It remains one of the last structures from a time when the Jotun build to please the eye rather than for war. 

Nowadays, only ruins remain. 

One summer came and weakened the bridge with warm winds until it crumbled to pieces. Soon after losing his arm, the east side warrior-statue was logged, its pieces scattered as far the eye could see. The icicles grew year after year, spawned by the currents, sprawling over the remaining statue, putting additional horns on his head, as well as locking windows and doors of the surrounding village. 

The crunching of the snow beneath feet announces the arrival of the Aesir. 

“Finally! What are you waiting for?” Vinar hisses, staggering past Angrboda. 

“The village is near,” Angrboda states. “I shall go ahead to announce your arrival. Do you manage the rest of the way on your own?” 

The Aesir’s expression would have soured fresh milk, but he nods. 

In full speed, it would take Angrboda mere minutes to reach the village. But he had to be cautious. Vinar seemed to recognize the village, so Angrboda had to make sure to remain unrecognized by the Jotun counterparts of the conspirators. 

He veils himself from view, pressing his lips to a thin line. He should use as few seidr as possible as soon as he finds himself a new face. It seems the day could be longer than anticipated. 

It turns out that he was right - Byleistr did not spare guards. While Angrboda lowers a stunned warrior, put to sleep with a whispering of a spell, into a small crack in the icy ground, a second guard rounds an icy pillar in a short distance. An illusion of the warriors face hastily casted over his own, Angraboda rises, casually kicking snow over the sleeping sentinel. 

“What are you doing there?” the patrol demands, confused. 

“Looking out for Aesir.” Angrboda shrugs. “There are two on their way here,” he mentions casually, and strides towards the direction the other came from, hoping the guard won’t question him further. The other looks like he can’t determine if he is being the target for a joke or not. When he is a few strides past the guard, Angrboda turns with a frown. “Are you coming?” he asks sternly. 

The guard frowns, but follows, confusion still on his face. “What are you talking…”, the guard starts. Angrboda snorts and points in the direction where the two small spots struggle against the elements. The Aesir did barely make any progress, since he left. The guard’s eyes widen. 

“You tell the others. I am going to fetch them for the boss,” Angrboda declares. Suddenly the guard’s eyes snap towards him. 

“Better bring him to the prince!” he remarks. “The boss rode to contact the glacier shepherds. I will tell Hloi to find him, but it might take a time. Until then, the prince will do.”

Angrboda nods, careful not to show any reaction.

* * *

When Aesir finally reach the assembly place, about thirty Jotun are already gathered there. And one dark elf, as Angrboda notes. A knot forms in his gut. The presence of the dark elf fits Loki’s tale too well. It truly must have been Byleistr those Asgardian conspirators came here to meet. What was the prince thinking to do something like this? More and more Jotun warriors are joining while Angrboda steps forward. 

Before him, on a throne-like seat, Byleistr awaits him amidst a half circle of young, belligerent looking warriors. Yet, in all honesty, the prince does not look entirely happy, even though he does his best to feign confidence. Angrboda bows before his prince. 

“My prince, those two Aesir wish to speak to you,” he announces briefly and retreats to the crowd. He takes a deep breath and lets his eyes wander over the gathered Jotun. Who could be this boss the guard talked about? 

“Why did you come, Asgardian? Did we grow so close already, you can’t stay away?” Byleistr remarks dryly. 

“I bring good news, your royal highness, prince of Jotunheim,” Vinar fawns. 

“Do you? Is it that your friend, who failed to accompany you when he was supposed to, did now find time to please us with his presence?” Byleistr goads. 

Vinar’s hands clench to fists, and there is a hint of a sneer in his voice when he answers. “Partly yes, your highness! I am honored to now introduce to you, Lord Njord of the inner council, who chose to affiliate with our honorable quest to return order and justice to our realms.” Vinar hints a bow. 

“Ah, so you are willing to travel to our humble realm as long as it fits your wishes?” the prince snorts. “Or do your superficialities mean more to you than orders?” 

“Your grace,” Njords melodic voice cuts in, “please allow me to explain. My position includes supervision of the armory and,” he makes a meaningful pause, “… the vault.” 

Angrboda frowns. He never heard of this. As far as he knew, Njord was engaged with trade and connections to the guilds. The vault was reserved to members of the royal family and perhaps Tyr. 

Byleistr gaze searches Njord’s expression. When he doesn’t answer, Njord proceeds. “As such, I am able to provide the token you requested much easier than my friends anticipated. However, I do not share their ease concerning the schedule. Each minute the rotten ways of the crown are tolerated, Asgard’s honor scrambles. This cannot continue! Take action today and I am willing to return the casket to you once the portal is closed!” 

Byleistr frowns. “Haste leads to mistakes. The preparations are not finished, councilman,” he objects. “The anchor-stone that holds Yggdrasil’s branch is barely in place. The branch needs time to adapt before we can use the pathway. A portal along the branch can only be as stable as the branch is. It could collapse, and thus bring destruction to both of our realms.” 

“So your sorcerers are not as excellent as you wanted us to believe, after all? The preparations should have been finished weeks ago!” Vinar hisses. 

“Obviously, you understand nothing of sorcery, Asgardian. Yggdrasil’s branches are ancient. They cannot be bent with ease or haste!” retorts Byleistr. Presentiment makes Angrboda clench his fists. 

To Angrboda’s surprise, it’s the dark elf who supports Byleistr. “Why would you urge us now that the time is almost upon us”, he barks roughly. 

“The king is acting foolishly. As you said, the messenger arrived but was send back without the help she asked for. He doesn’t realize how bad the odds are,” Vinar laments, wringing his hands. 

Byleistr snorts incredulously. “Truly? Even I felt tempted to pity the queen after your description of the case! And still King Thor does not? His heard must be colder than ice,” he mocks. 

“The messenger didn’t describe the case as desperate as Algrim did,” Njord hums with a nod towards the dark elf. “I wonder why,” he adds softly with narrowed eyes. 

“Shame,” the elf answers without hesitation. “The queen has much to lose and appearing weak attracts predators. I have seen the battlefields. If King Thor refuses to help, we truly need to take action now.” 

Byleistr keeps silent for so long that even Vinar starts fidgeting. “My prince, please consider the proposal. With each day the chance of discovery grows,” Vinar pleads. 

“Very well,” Byleistr finally yields. “Call upon your sorcerers, Algrim, and meet us in the highlands. And you, dear councilmen, should hurry back into your realm of summer as long it lasts.” 

Angrboda lets his breath escape with a hiss. He can’t let this happen. But what could he do? Gritting his teeth, he scans the room. No face except Byleistr’s looks familiar. It is a risk, anyway. 

He lets the illusion of the other’s face fall, praying silently for the odds of the fates. 

“My prince,” Angrboda calls out. “You are not aware of all the facts.” 

Byleistr gives him an annoyed glance, his hand already lifted for a dismissive gesture when he recognizes Angrboda, and his jaw drops. He stares with wide eyes and starts to say something. Suddenly, it appears to Angrboda the prince might uncover him accidentally, even if none of those present recognizes his face. 

“Please, your highness. Grant me a private hearing,” Angrboda quickly adds. 

Byleistr hesitates for a moment, then nods. He rises and gestures Angrboda to follow him. Confused glances and furious muttering accompany them to a small adjunct chamber. 

“My prince!” Angrboda pleas, as soon as they are out of the hearing range. “What is this madness?! Helblindi told me you would question his reign, but I couldn’t believe it! What for, in all the nine realms, would you attack Asgard? You must know all we can do in a fight like this is to loose!” 

Byleistr recoils. 

“I am NOT questioning his reign!” he snaps. “You talked of news, Angrboda. Have you been discovered? How is my brother?” 

Angrboda clenches his fists, fighting the urge to shake Byleistr. “Your brother is well, but he is still on Asgard _that you are going to attack_ , my prince. This attack must be stopped!”

Byleistr’s frowns. “It is no attack we are preparing.” 

“Please, my prince. I witnessed your talk with those Asgardian councilmen! They are using you! Their promises are empty! They do not have access to the vault. I do not know why they want war between Asgard and Jotunheim, but it is surely not in Jotunheims interests,” Angrboda explains desperately. 

Byleistr hums, turns away and starts pacing. “I feared as much. But it doesn’t matter. That would have been a mere addition.” Suddenly he turns, anger flashing in his eyes. “You haven’t seen how these bastards treat Helblindi! Year after year they demand higher charges, mocking him and gloating openly to his face. I couldn’t bear to watch it any longer!” He sounded hurt. 

Angrboda rubs his forehead, taking a few breaths. “Even more he needs your support. But you are plunging Jotunheim into a war it cannot win!” 

“No!” Byleistr hisses. “Asgard’s king is foolish and disrespected. Haven’t you heard what he did to his wife? Once he is gone without an heir, the people will elect a new, more reasonable one that will bring peace to the nine realms!” 

Angrboda is stunned. “No… NO! Who in all the realms told you that? That’s not how the Asgardian monarchy works. And yes, the thing with his wife was …” Angrboda searches for a fitting word, finding none. “… impetuous. But Asgard adores him nevertheless! And even if he died – the Allfather is still present and fit to take the rule back on any day! And who should be this ‘more reasonable king’, anyway?” 

“Tyr,” Byleistr responds promptly, and Angrboda can’t hold back from slapping a hand to his face. 

“Tyr is gruesome! He would rather destroy Jotunheim than make piece! Honestly, did those Aesir tell you that?”

“Not only.” Byleistr sounds defensive. “Most of this I know from Algrim. I made my own inquires, too. But then a spy met these Aesir on Vanaheim and they confirmed all he said. You know, if there is someone who should know what happens in Asgard...” He breaks off, and his shoulders slump. “But you know Asgard just as well, and are much more trustworthy.” 

Byleistr takes a few breathes, then his eyes return to Angrboda. “I will follow your advice.” He sighs and turns back to the assembly place. 

“We will not leave today!” Byleistr booms as soon they are outside, giving nobody the change to object. Angrboda remains in the shadows and watches the crowd, which is standing in stunned silence. One of the Aesir raises his voice but Byleistr cuts him off. “My decision is final.”

“Obviously your word is nothing worth at all,” Vinar sneers. 

Byleistr pierces them with a murderous glance. “You’d better be glad I do not send you back to your king in pieces. I wonder what judgment stands for treason in Asgard.” 

The pale faces of the Aesir redden with fury, but they make no further attempt to counter. 

Only the soft patter of frozen snow is to be heard. 

Silently, Angrboda lets his held breath escape. 

He starts to turn away when slow clapping of a sole pair of hands makes his blood freeze. A single laugh accompanies the applause. 

“Finally!” a hateful scorn resounds. “Finally the world turns to its supposed order! Finally a Jotun is willing to put these pale worms in their place.”

Angrboda turns. Byleistr stands high and unrelenting, but his hands are clenched. At the edge of the assembly place, a mountain beast rises its ugly head, towering over the gathered Jotuns. On its shoulders, judging by the fearful looks the gathered Jotun give him, thrones “the boss”. 

And Angrboda recognizes his face, as cold and hard as the frozen heart of the storm. Leikn. This cannot be a mistake. Even from the distance, the madness of his gaze is radiant. A shudder runs over Angrboda’s back. A lifetime ago he used to fight on Leikn’s side. Still too short of time. 

Unlike the others, Leikn _had_ witnessed the war and it brought the worst of him to the light. Before the war, it had been him who spurred Laufey on to act regardless of all they could lose. During the war, Leikn had send hundreds of youth to be shredded by the invading Asgardian army, talking about the honor it would be to die for king and motherland, only to turn the pain of the bereaved into headless obsession for revenge afterwards. During the war, he lived for nothing but carnage. 

“But why, in all tarnation, my beloved prince, do you do this in the hour of our victory? Against our victory even?” Leikn drawls. 

Byleistr barely moves; only the slightest tremor runs through him. He lifts his chin. “It’s a trap. We would pay a price way too high,” he declares in an ultimate voice. Beside him, the Aesir pale. 

“Is it?” Leikn chuckles. His eyes fall upon Vinar, who reels back. 

With a move much too quick for a man of his age, he slips from his seat and glides towards the two men. 

“So, you wanted to lure us into a trap? Spill the blood of another prince?” Leikn’s voice drips with poison. He grips Vinar around the neck and lifts him up to his own faces. Vinar’s hands fly to the iron grip around his neck, struggling to loosen the giant’s fingers. At least Leikn does not use the frostbite until now. Angrboda summons an ice dagger to his hand, leaping to Byleistr’s side. 

“Put him down!” Byleistr gasps. “These fools are fragile!” 

“Let them learn not to temper with forces too great for them, then,” Leikn hisses, lifting Vinar over his head and smashing him into the ground. In slow motion, Angrboda sees the body crash, the skull hitting the ice with an audible thud. He curses. 

Within an instant, he is at the Aesir’s side, summoning his seidr to stop the bleeding. He searches for fractures, frantically trying to prevent the disaster. Just something. 

A giant blade of ice crashes down, impaling the broken body. Angrboda stills, his blood frozen. He grips his dagger, but Leikn turns towards the crowd. 

“Now is the time for revenge!” Leikn booms. “Justice for the blood of the fallen! The time of the sword and axe. The time of the white frost and cleansing seidr, the time of madness and disdain!”

He turns to Byleistr. “Do you see it now? You will thank me when the victory is ours. Until then, I can neither risk your life nor suffer your skittishness anymore.” With that he turns back towards the gasping crowd of Jotun, raising his ice armored arm. “TO ASGARD!!” he roars. 

The crowd comes to life with cheering. Everywhere around them summoned ice covers blue arms, while red eyes incite with bloodthirst. At the edge of his view, Angrboda sees Byleistr pull the remaining Aesir behind him. 

Leikn grants the three of them a last, dismissive glance, then turns and strides towards the mountainside, followed by the tumultuous crowd. 

Njord shakes so badly, one can nearly hear his bones rattle. He’s as pale as the death. Byleistr is dumbstruck. When Angrboda raises to his feet, he is still staring after Leikn, hands clenching and unclenching in fast succession. 

“My prince!” Angrboda beseechs and Byleistr flinches. “We need to stop them!” 

Byleistr takes a breath and nods. “Yes, but what of the…” he gestures towards Njord and then gasps. Leikn’s mountain beast has remained and turns its head slowly towards them. Silently, it cowers, pressing its body to the ground, eyes fixed on the prince. The hunting pose. Byleistr takes a deep breath and retreats. Angrboda follows, careful not to provoke the beast to attack. 

The Aesir doesn’t notice the danger. His breath advances and with an angry head-shake he points a finger towards Byleistr. “What kind of prince are you?!” 

The mountain beast makes a quick leap and grips the Aesir with its fangs. He doesn’t even have time to scream, before it shakes him vigorously. Faintly, Angrboda hears the crack of bones. The creature hastily chews, and swallows. Both Aesir are gone, Angrboda realizes desperately. The mountain beast turns to the two remaining Jotun. 

The second time within an hour, Angrboda indulges in the urge to curse. 

Beside him Byleistr coats his arm with ice.

* * *

When they are finally released for midmorning break, it feels like the first ease of autumn chill after an ever-lasting burning torture in this summer hell. 

Loki jumps to his feet and flees towards the exit even before Freyja has finished their acquittal and releases them into the midmorning break. One minute longer and someone probably would have died. Probably he. Or Amora, who started to make subtle, obscene gestures towards him after noticing his problem. Laughter chases after him all the way to the main hall. 

He hates her with the power of a thousand suns. For this, she will suffer, he swears to himself, boiling. 

“Loki!” Balder calls behind his back and Loki bares his teeth. If Balder is going to lecture him about self-control, he shall get even more reason to do so. Seething, Loki spins around, hands already clenched to fists. 

“What!?” Loki hisses, and Balder, who had nearly gained on him, flinches back in surprise. After a moment the confusion, his face gives way to a pained smile. 

“Ah. My apologies you had to suffer through that.” Grimacing, Balder points a thumb backwards over his shoulder. 

“Thanks. That helps so much,” Loki snaps. 

“Than my news do, perhaps. You have received a present,” Balder adds winking. 

Instantly, his anger decreases. A shiver runs over his back. A present from the King! That was something Amora could only dream of. Yet, there is something in Balder’s expression Loki can’t pinpoint. But it doesn’t matter. He can’t hold back a soft smile. He can’t wait to find out what he got. 

“It’s in your room,” Balder says with a fond roll of his eyes. 

He follows Loki to his room and shuts the door behind him. On the table beside Loki’s bed, a potato-sack-sized object waits, covered by a fine, black cloth. It is round and would be nearly hip-high, if placed on the floor. Loki blinks. Still he can’t fathom what it might be. 

Eager to find out, he snaps the cloth away. His mouth falls open. Stunned, he turns to Balder. 

“What is that supposed to mean?” Loki asks dumbfounded. 

“Ahm, yes. He probably noticed your fondness for all those animals. Or Skadi mentioned how you cared for the little bird with the broken wing,” Balder starts, obviously intending to placate, hands slightly risen. “I am sure, he only intended to please you. I bet he didn’t realize how it would look…”

“A CAGED BIRD?!?” Loki screams. He wants to shout more, but the painful ridiculousness is simply too big to find fitting words, so he stands there panting. Infuriated, he rips the cage door of fine, golden wire open, turns around and does the same with the window. The magpie within the cage cowers on the cage floor, eyes round and fearfully fixed on Loki. 

“Go!” Loki tells the bird in a broken voice. “Be free!”

The bird doesn’t make a single move. Loki drops on the bed, shoulders slumping. After a moment, Balder sits beside him and lays a hand on his shoulder. 

“She was raised by the stable master. I guess she wouldn’t even like being on her own,” Balder explains. “Don’t you like her?”

She is beautiful, Loki has to admit. Her plumage is the darkest black and pure white, eyes bright and intelligent. He nods hesitantly and sighs. 

“She isn’t a spy, is she? Like those ravens?” he asks tiredly and Balder chuckles. 

“Don’t think so. But who knows? If so, she spies for the king and he already knows your biggest secret.” 

Loki forces a chuckle. In the cage, the magpie takes a tentative step. Something smooth and golden lays in the middle of the cage, half buried in the sand. Loki frowns. Careful not to frighten the bird, he fishes it out. It’s a tiny golden egg. 

“Ah, yes, that. You see the golden leg-ring? It is bound to the egg, so she does not fly too far away,” Balder explains awkwardly. “As soon you have taken her feed and water, I should take the cage back, so we can say she just came to you.” 

Loki nods sourly. Oh, Thor would hear some words about this soon.

* * *

Breathless, Angrboda struggles, and finally manages to crawl from beneath the still mighty, yet now utterly lifeless mass of the mountain beast. Byleistr leans to a pillar, his arm still covered with ice and the monsters blood. Many cuts grace his breast and shoulders, but none are deep enough to threaten his life. 

Angrboda quickly checks himself for injuries. There are some, but he can still fight. Still, it will be a long day. 

“Perhaps we can outrun them if we climb the swath to get to the summoning square,” Byleistr declares, breathless. No worry is audible in his voice, but his hands twitch. 

“Yes. Just let me get my attire. If I have to follow them I don’t want to waste seidr on appearance.” Angrboda sighs and recovers his bundle from the assembly place. They break into a sprint, rushing towards the mountain top. Byleistr leads him, leaping from one rock to the next, snow and debris splashing beneath their feet. 

Twice the harsh winds nearly tear Angrboda from a ledge while they climb higher and higher. Ice particles whip their faces. Once Angrboda believes to hear the roar like from a mountain beast in the distance. 

When they finally reach the summit, Angrboda’s legs tremble. Byleistr looks no better. “There!” he pants, pointing north. “There is a plateau…” His voice fades. Terrified, Angrboda recognizes why. Heavy fog floats towards them, floating over the plateau in water-like ripples. Warm Asgardian air condensing within Jotunheim’s bitter cold. 

The portal has already been opened. 

And this one must be big. 

The whole plain was flooded with white fog, snow-flakes forming in mid-air, as far as the eye could see. “No!” Byleister hissed, bolting off into the fog. Angrboda pursues him, swallowing a curse while plowing through the fresh snow. Noise of battle comes from somewhere. 

Suddenly, a high-pitched voice swears somewhere ahead. 

A spear zips past Angrboda’s head. In front of him, Byleistr summons ice around his fight-arm. Long buried war-instincts awaken in Angrboda. Within an instant, he summons protection over the prince and himself. Before him, the prince crashes his ice-covered arm at a puny figure. A scream sounds, but a blaze of magic reveals the opponent to be shielded. 

Angrboda is quick to hurl summoned ice blades in quick succession before the elf has the change to renew the shielding. Two blades sink in, blood splashing. With a broken sound, the foe crumbles. 

No Jotuns or elves are in sight, but more clashing and screams resound around them in the fog. 

Close to them, further to the right, a deep voice cries out in pain. Byleistr and Angrboda spin around as one. Their eyes meet, and without a word they rush forward. A stirring mass becomes visible in the fog, but it’s impossible to discriminate the fighters. 

When they are close enough to do so, the attacking elves turn their faces towards them. 

There are three of them. Two are magically forcing a struggling Jotun down to the ground. The third towers above the giant, a spear in a position for the death blow. 

Roaring, Byleistr hurls himself at the spear bearer, hailing ice-covered punches down on him. But the other two react quickly, one speaking an incomprehensible spell accompanied by a gesture, the other pulling a sword to hack down at the captured Jotun. 

An ancient, overwhelming wrath boils over in Angrboda. 

Never again will he bear witness to foreigners killing his kin on Jotunheim. With a roar, his magic breaks free, all unformed and forceful like only heartfelt ire can be. A wild mix of ice and air erupts, knocking the sword bearer unconscious and throwing him along with the other elf into the mist. Both scream franticly, then with the sudden thud one scream stops, while the other fades into the distance. 

Angrboda frowns shortly. He did use some force, but even that seems a bit much for his doing. 

Besides him, the Jotun pulls himself together, struggling back to his feet. Anger and hurt from betrayal glints in his eyes. With a hoarse cry, he stumbles after the elven sorcerers, ice already regrowing on his arms. 

Angrboda spins around. Where was Byleistr? This accursed fog made strategic fighting impossible. 

Stifling one curse after the other, he bolts to the place where Byleistr vanished. He nearly trips over a body. The spear-bearer is crushed. But further ahead, more smashes sound. A tiny figure runs towards him, then stops dead in his tracks, gasping. Before it can sidestep, Angrboda weaves a trap spell that wraps around the other’s legs. 

He falls, shackled by the spell. An elven warrior. Satisfaction runs through Angrboda. _A prisoner! We can question him and deliver to Asgard as evidence_ , Angrboda thinks right before his gaze falls on a tiny, red, blinking object, the elf lost when he fell. Frantically he grabs for it, but it lies just outside his reach, blinking faster and faster. 

It explodes. But the burst doesn’t even reach Angrboda before it changes to an implosion, creating something like a tiny black hole, swallowing the elf along with the surrounding snow. 

Angrboda stumbles backwards. Wind howls around him, pulling him towards the void. He can’t breathe. His feet lose contact to the ground. In a panic, he desperately tries to grip anything in reach. But all he grips is loose and flying. Screams are around him, then suddenly something hits his leg. Grabs it. For a second he hangs in a storm of snow and hail being torn towards the hole. 

Then everything stops, and he falls to the ground. Right in front of his eyes gaps a crater where the elf stood before. Around him is silence. Or no – there are people moving, orders screamed, and a rush of wind – but all seems distant. Angrboda takes a shuddering breath. 

Then he remembers. No time! He stumbles to his feet, taking a glance around. There are two Jotun close to him. An ancient warrior, bleeding from a clash in his side and a shaken looking sorcerer. No more screams ring from the fog. 

The fight seems over. He takes a shuddering breath. 

Heavy steps advance. Byleistr appears from the fog, the one Jotun they saved first on his side. Byleistr’s fight arm bleeds, but it doesn’t seem to hinder him. With narrow eyes he takes a look at all gathered, taking some deep breaths. 

“Who is responsible for this?” he grits out. 

None move, yet the gathered Jotun shrink. Reawakening ire banishes the remaining tremble from Angrboda’s limbs. “You,” he hisses at the elderly warrior. “Answer your liege!” 

The warrior raises his glance meekly. “Algrim turned on us, my prince,” he murmurs.

Byleistr barks out a cold laugh. “Then where are all the warriors? There are near to no bodies in the fog.”

The warrior frowns. “They followed the plan, your grace. Leikn lead the warriors to Asgard.” 

The news pierce Angrboda like physical pain. Judging by Byleistr’s face, he feels no better. 

“Where will they strike?” Angrboda demands, gaze fixed on Byleistr. “I must follow them.” 

Byleistr looks shaken. “The plan… The portal… this portal,” Byleistr emphasizes with a gesture towards a hidden place from where never ending fog came floating towards them. “It’s a distraction and weapon alike. The Aesir told us they would want to overthrow their fool king, but they would need help lest he slaughter them all. The opening of the portal would be the sign to start the revolution. And while Asgard’s king stands staring at Ymir’s breath, our warriors could reach the important places, each team hidden by a sorcerer.”

Angrboda wants to scream. Distinct teams. Even if he made haste that the Bifrost himself would envy Angrboda for his swiftness – reaching more than one team before the strike was impossible!

Byleistr takes a deep breath and continues. “Our men were to guard the vault to prevent the king using those ancient, rotten forces against his people, the Bifrost so he can’t call back his troops from Swartalfheim, and the council as he would certainly take the delegates of the common folk prisoners to execute them as a warning.” 

Only the years he spent watching Loki had granted Angrboda the self-restraint not to say a harsh word. He shakes his head. “How did you ever think they would welcome warriors such as us at their most precious places?” he asks, pained. 

Byleistr’s eyes narrow. “Do not think me a fool, Angrboda. You have seen how few we are! None could ever think a number this small a serious attack. They would not risk anything. And neither would we – if they find no turmoil there, they retreat through the small pathway in the mountainside while still being veiled by the sorcerers.” 

Angrboda blinks. He opens his mouth to say something but closes it again. Then he shakes his head in relief. “It seems I have to apologize my prince,” Angrboda admits. “Yet, we must close the portal immediately!” 

Yet, something bugs Angrboda. He just can’t put a finger on it. 

Byleistr nods tight, but at his waist his hand flinches when he turns towards the source of the fog. As if there was something more. The air becomes warmer and more sated with scents the nearer they are the portal. 

It is enormous. 

At least double Angrboda’s height in diameter, it stands as a wavering circle in mid-air, its lower border just inches above the ground. Below Angrboda’s waist, a cold current of air floats through the portal towards Asgard. Above his shoulders, a warm wind drifts towards the sky, quickly forming snowflakes that dance in mad patterns in the dynamics. 

On the other side, Asgardian mountains are visible even though the portal is not even close to the ground. The white fog, all soft and still, is floating down the mountainside towards the golden city in the distance. Everything looks peaceful. 

Even so...

“Truly – a formidable distraction.” Angrboda sighs. “We must close it before it causes any real damage.” 

“Those winds?” The prince frowns towards the portal and Angrboda nods. 

“If we leave the portal open, Asgard will cool while Jotunheim bakes.” 

“Ymir’s power flows through Jotunheim!” The sorcerer snorts. “Asgard is powerful, but it is small! It would freeze much faster than Jotunheim taws.” 

But Angrboda knows that this is only half of the truth. “Jökulhlaup,” he breathes and the others fall silent. 

Jotunheim has never been a spoiling mother to the Jotun. 

But there was no disaster like the Jökulhlaup. 

The last one was so long ago it nearly became a myth. Some say Ymir inflamed in love so it melted the roots of the biggest glaciers in the highlands. Beneath the ice a lake formed, until the body of the glacier became unable to bear it. 

It broke. 

Masses of water and ice crashed down the mountainsides, crushing everything in their path. There was no escape. Everything in its way was devoured. The glacial lake outburst ripped a wound into the face of the realm that would be known as the lower planes henceforth, as not even the mountains were able to withstand its force. 

And now Asgard’s heated air floated over the roots of the mightiest of the highland glaciers. If the glaciers roots would break, nothing would hold the enormous mass of ice at the mountainsides. The glaciers face towards Utgard. They shield the secret valleys from the freezing winds. The only places left to grow food since the casket of ancient winters and its weather-controlling might were gone. 

“Even if Utgard escapes the Jökulhlaup, they starve together with the livestock.” 

“How long do we have?” Byleistr asks, tense. 

Angrboda bits his lip and makes a quick calculation. “A week at most. Perhaps less.” 

A strangled sound from the sorcerer catches their attention. For a second, Angrboda clings to the desperate hope it would not mean worse news. The sorcerer is sunken to his knees in front of a black rock besides the portal, sleek and polished, and covered in runes. 

An anchor stone, a harsh rapture through it. 

“They broke the branch,” the sorcerer breathes, searching for Byleistr’s gaze. Byleistr clenches his hands, but avoids Angrboda’s gaze. “The elves told Leikn he needed to hurry, and when they were gone, they attacked and…” Trembling, he lays his hand on the fracture. “… They broke Yggdrasil’s branch! The impact must have shattered the anchor stone. It is all that holds the branch from falling.” 

Snow flutters through the stunned silence. 

“Oh, great Ymir,” Angrboda whispers. 

“They are mad,” Byleistr grits out. “They… they must know that this … breaking Yggdrasil’s branches … that could…” His widened eyes search for Angrboda’s help. But what could he say? That wasn’t something he ever heard of. Silently, he wishes for someone he could turn to. 

“Malekith,” Angrboda swears. “He does not even care for the wellbeing of his own realm. The destruction of ours will never bother him, as long as Asgard’s demise is tied to it.” 

Angrboda turns toward the anchor stone, groping for the branch with his seidr. He feels the ancient power of the branch, now bent and splinted, trapped with its origin at the stone, its tip stretching towards Asgard. Just now, its power seemed to flow stable enough, even though Angrboda can already feel the strain of the portal. 

Without Yggdrasil’s strengthening life-force, the branches would wither, so much was clear. Angrboda tries to remember everything he ever learned about Yggdrasil and its ancient power. What could possibly happened with dying branches? There were just no examples for something like this, as far Angrboda knew.

The three fates themselves were supposed to thrive at Yggdrasil’s trunk, wherever it might be. A shiver runs over his back. He hopes dearly this mess won’t call upon the Norns themselves to come to see what caused the mighty branch to rot. Nothing he ever heard about them was pleasant. But those were just legends, he tells himself. 

Angrboda takes a breath. “We must care for the branch, but not right now. The anchor can bear it a while.” 

Byleistr nods. Still, his hands are clenched to fists. “So we can’t hoist the anchor. How else could we close the portal?” 

Grim silence answers him. Byleistr looks at the portal and grits his teeth. Angrboda can nearly see his thoughts. Asgard would see this as an act of war. There was no way wiggling out of that. And if attacked, there was no way Asgard could ignore such act of hostility. Not even Loki’s maddening skills in influencing the king could change that. 

But perhaps they would consider it an attack from someone else, and not from Jotunheim. 

“The elven bodies! We can tell Asgard they plotted this and we came too late to stop them,” he proposes. Byleistr nods slightly, but then he presses his eyes shut. 

“Yes! But I...” Byleistr wipes his face and turns to Angrboda with desperate eyes. “Their betrayal must have been long scripted! I fear it meant to prompt Leikn to lead the troops. What if his betrayal was part of their plan?” 

And then it dawns on Angrboda. That is it – the one thing Byleistr did not want to tell him about. It was about Leikn. The last part of the elven plan was to make sure this could be seen as nothing but a Jotun attack on Asgard. The cherry on top. 

“But if Leikn leads them…” Byleistr starts anew, “He never liked our plan. He thought it to twisted, to inefficient. He craves revenge.” Again he hesitates, his eyes unsteady. When he continues, his voice is just a whisper. “What if he strikes against the king himself?” 

An attack against the Aesir king. 

Unforgivable. 

“I need to leave NOW!” Angrboda breathes. 

“How?” Byleistr pleads desperately. “How can we deal with the branch? It there truly nothing we can do?” 

Angrboda frantically searches all he ever learned about Yggdrasil, the realms and even the climate. It was maddening. He shakes his head. 

“Go to Helblindi and tell him everything. I MUST leave before it is too late! We will talk about it when I am back!” Angrboda breaks into a run, heading quickly towards the portal.

* * *

When everyone has gathered in the garden after the break, it’s Balder who steps forward to hold the lecture. Like before, Loki and Sigyn have settled at the far back, but already Amora turns her head towards them, and now several of the girls mirror it. 

“Welcome back, everyone,” Balder greets cheerfully. “Within the last session it occurred to me, it would help you very much to train how to respond to startling news with the sobriety appropriate for a queen.” 

Loki snorts and promptly gets dirty looks from the front rows. 

“Exactly,” Balder remarks, not further specifying if he means the snort or the reactions to it. Probably both. 

“So – please split into pairs. Then one of you tries to evoke some reaction in the other by telling her something amusing, stunning, or obscene. The partner’s job is to control her expression. You may react, but consider the appropriate etiquette. After that, you switch tasks. In the end, we will do a round including everyone to test your progress.” 

Sigyn searches his gaze with hopeful eyes. As if there was any other he would team up with willingly. Loki gives her a grin and her face lights up. He rises and starts to ask if they could take his favorite place beneath the tree, but she is already on her way there.

“What are you smiling about?” Sigyn asks when he joins her. 

“Nothing,” Loki huffs and rolls his eyes. She gives him a playfully hurt look, until he groans. “It’s just nice, to have someone to team up with, ok?” he admits, a hint of defensive. 

“Thank you. I like to be appreciated.” She grins smugly. He groans again in mock-annoyance and receives a soft punch against the shoulder. They chuckle, then Loki grips his shoulder in exaggerated pain. 

“Aarrrg! First attack is mine!” He claims, the faked pain on his face giving way to a predatory grin. 

Promptly, Sigyn drains all emotion from her face, sitting up straight and looking like her life would be filled with nothing but pea-sorting. 

He bites his lip and thinks about something he could tell her, only to curse himself silently. There were just so many possibilities he could not take because he didn’t want to expose himself to Heimdall. The next point that comes to mind is to say something obscene about Heimdall, but that would probably be unwise, too. 

“Amora stole a necklace from the treasury,” he finally states, but Sigyn’s eyes just widen the tiniest bit. 

“That was unwise of her,” she remarks, head tilted slightly. “And I am disappointed. I expected better from you.” 

He scowls. “You know too much. If you weren’t in on my secret meetings I would have you gaping at me now.” 

“Nah, you wouldn’t have told me just because of this game,” she announces dryly and he rolls his eyes. 

“But as you mentioned it – I happened to think about how fair and just our king is, due to your words. Do you think he would be so cruel to detain you from enjoying your boy-parts or might he offer you his bottom, as well?” she asks, fiercely blushing under her defiant expression. 

Loki stares at her, processing what she just said, burning heat rising in his cheeks. Speechless, he draws breath, chokes and dissolves into convulsive coughing. She sits there, silent and nothing but a twitch of her mouth indicates her amusement. 

“How dare you!?” Loki chokes out between two coughs.

Some distance away, at the Bifrost, Heimdall blinks several times with wide eyes, before he regains his composure with a small shake of his head. 

From then on it’s the funniest lecture they ever had. Loki’s restraint is entirely washed away and so is Sigyn’s. Sadly for him, she already spent much more time thinking about things to tease him with. 

He searches his brain for something to say which is not to offensive, but still shocking enough to elicit at least a gasp from her. But before he can even say anything, her eyes widen and she draws a frightened breath, eyes locked on something behind him. 

Confused, he turns, and within an instant his blood freezes. 

Over the distant mountain chain, a point in mid-air starts flashing like lightning. Distant growling and hissing resonances from there. And it grows. 

Dark clouds form around the point, lightning flashing from them, until they cover the blue sky despite the blazing heat of the Asgardian summer. More and more clouds spread until they conceal the sun. In the sudden shade, a gust of wind sweeps over the city, bearing a creeping cold. 

Fear suffocates Loki. He barely hears Skadi’s shouted orders, telling the youth to retreat inside and to go to their rooms. 

Frantic thoughts wrestle with each other.

Where was Angrboda? Was this the conspirators’ doing? The point in the air must be connected to Jotunheim! A portal? The condensation of air – it looked so similar to the portal in the mountains, just much bigger. But why the flashes in the clouds? Thor!? No, it couldn’t be him. The cape would be visible from very far away. But it must be an attack. WHY DIDN’T HE LISTEN? Was Angrboda caught over there? Was he back already, working in the healer’s wing? 

A tug on his sleeve. Sigyn pulls his arm, eyes filled with fear. “We need to go _inside_!” she pleads, trying to drag him with her. 

Dumbfounded, he staggers a few steps along. They make it to the main hall of the harem, and suddenly he realizes what he has to do. He rips his arm away. “Go!” Loki tells her, putting all self-confidence he can pull together in his expression. “I need to do something.”

She looks frightened. 

“Go!” he pleads. 

She shakes her head. 

He turns and looks for Skadi or Balder. Glut and her minions hasten past him towards their rooms. Balder’s voice sounds from somewhere. The kitchen! Loki turns there. 

He nearly makes it, before a fast grip fastens around his shoulder. 

“What do you think, where you are going?” Skadi’s sharp voice asks and a lot of Loki’s confidence vanishes. 

She pulls him around, so he has to face her. “Go to your room and wait there!” she orders. Sigyn drops her gaze under Skadi’s hard stare and retreats upstairs. When she realizes that Loki doesn’t follow, she throws him a pleading glance. With an annoyed huff, Skadi shoves him towards the stairs. 

“No!” Loki hisses and faces Skadi. He takes a quick look around. “I need to see the king, _now_!” he whispers determined. 

Skadi only snorts, her voice a sharp whisper. “Don’t let your privilege get to your head. Right now he has no time for you.”

But Loki is not going to relent so easily. “He promised me a wish! I demand it now and you have no right to refuse it to me.” 

Behind Skadi, Freyja steps out of the suite Loki shares with Lorelei, Amora and Sigyn, her eyes searching the room until she spots them arguing. She joins them right when Skadi’s eyes narrow dangerously. 

“Can’t you see, what is happening right now? You would only distract him in a dangerous time!” 

“ _You_ don’t understand!” Loki cries. “I need to talk to him because of this thing!!” 

Skadi looks close to her breaking point, taking in several deep breaths. 

“I can take Loki to the king,” Freyja interjects with a frown. “But you have to swear to behave! If he has no time for you, we will go back without a word.”

“Yes!” Loki breathes, overtaken by gratitude. “Of course!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So - first of all, I am sorry this took me so long! My life is quite complicated right now. ^.^'
> 
> I know it is not easy to leave comments, but even if you don't know what to write I would feel most honored, if you could give me a little "fuck" for my efforts. :D I need some validation right now and still don't know if i can finish my thesis until the deadline. So i would be grateful! ^.^


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you three for the patience! :) I hope I will be quicker from now on. :D 
> 
> Again I would like to thank my dear beta-reader [ensignanna](https://ensignanna.tumblr.com/) for saving you all from my terrible spelling and comma placement.

From afar, the portal looks almost harmless. Beautiful even. White clouds form around it and drift away in big piles, like cotton wool in front of the deep blue sky. The freshening winds from the other side is welcomed as a change from the summer heat. 

Clenching his teeth, Thor grips Mjolnir firmer. Those damned conspirators. He rises from Hlidskialf. A counter attack must be led at once. 

“My son.” Odin’s words interrupt Thor’s thoughts. The Allfather looks fierce in his golden battle armor, the horned helm and a red cape flapping behind him. Yet, calmness radiates from him. Thor takes a deep breath, calming his thoughts. 

“Good.” Odin nods. “You must not act rashly. Now tell me, what you think.” 

“We must oppose the attack. I shall lead a force towards the opening and find out who is behind it.”

“The portal must be investigated, but I shall go in your stead!” Odin rises a hand lest Thor voices his protest. “This is the work of seidr, my son. If it can be closed at once, it shall be done and I might be capable in doing so.” 

“But father! We don’t know how great their forces are, whoever is behind this! Let me join you at least!”

But Odin just shakes his head with a smile and lays a hand on Thor’s shoulder. “What a lucky old man I am. Centuries I spend fighting wars in plenty of realms. Despite all I survived, yet my son still worries over me in battle.” 

“Father…!” Thor starts angrily, but again Odin rises a hand. 

“How long is the portal open by now?” 

Thor frowns upon the sudden change of topic. “Twenty minutes. Thirty perhaps.” 

Odin nods. “Whoever opened it won’t have waited that long to pass it. Prepare the troops for battle, for the enemy is already on the way to his destination. Send Einherjar to preempt them.”

“The vault!” Thor states. 

“Yes. And the Bifrost, as well as the palace. I trust you with your mother’s safety. Do not fail me.” 

With a last stern glance Odin leaves, calling his troops together. Thor’s heart clenches. He could not let anything happen to his mother. A cold determination replaces his anticipation. 

He turns around to Hogun, Fendral, Volstagg and Sif, who are waiting, expressions fearless. 

“Sif! Gather a troop and protect the Bifrost!” With a quick nod she’s gone. 

“Hogun, Fandral! Take forty men and protect the queen! Let none in or out.” They confirm his order snappy and rush past him. In the last second Thor grips Fandral’s arm. “Do not hesitate to call for help as soon as you are attacked and I will join you at once!” Fandral nods solemnly and they are gone. 

Beside him the last of his warriors fastens his grip on his axe. “Volstagg, gather thirty men and guard the vault.” Volstagg’s glance wavers as he quickly counts the remaining Einherjar in the hall. “Thor, there will be near to none left with you.” He hesitates. 

“That’s a command!” Thor barks. “There is no enemy able to oppose me, friend,” he adds more calmly with a savage smile. “Let them come and they shall feel the rage of my hammer!” 

Volstagg’s forced laughter is confirmation enough for Thor. He turns towards the remaining Einherjar, gathered in the throne hall, as Volstagg leaves. Some of the expressions of the men show determination, but few glance at him with widened eyes and trembling hands, too. Thor takes a deep breath, remembering Odin’s calming strength. Time for him to grant his men the same favor. 

He steps at the upper end of the stairs before the throne. All eyes turn towards him. 

“Sons of Asgard! A treacherous enemy longs to reawake the war and to inflict hatred in our hearts! They wish to twist our minds into mindless slaughter. But we must not bend to their will! Today we fight for the freedom of our lands! For the freedom of our minds. As this is but an act of few.  
Stand firm!” Before him, some of the soldiers square their shoulders. No more trembling is visible in their hands. 

“Those who wish to use us will be punished.” Pugnacity awakes in their faces. A gust of wind billows Thor’s cape. 

“Those who wage war upon our realms shall be wiped out!” 

Thor rises Mjolnir over his head and takes a deep breath. “Let this be the hour when we draw weapons together!” 

 

* * *

Groups of Einherjar hurry past them, as Freyja guides Loki towards the palace. Swords and armors ring due to their hasty movements. Many of them frown or blink when they spot Loki and Freyja rushing towards the throne hall. But they don’t voice their concerns. 

They have nearly reached the throne room when Loki recognizes one of Thor’s companions, the solemn looking one, in the crowd. Their gazes meet for a second, then he leads his squad of Einherjar deeper into the palace, quickly followed by Thor’s other companion. The dashing one. 

Loki follows the leaving troops with his eyes, until they vanish from sight. Another group hurries past them, led yet again by Thor’s companion. This time it is the huge, red haired one. 

Instead of entering the throne hall through the ordinary entrance for the people, Freyja leads Loki through a labyrinth of small corridors that finally lead them to the back of the hall, near the pillars behind the throne. 

If not for the uproar, Loki would have rejoiced over being shown such a useful and hidden part of the palace. As it is now, he simply feels relieve when he spots a familiar silhouette standing on the landing before the throne. The Einherjar in the hall cheer for their king, rising their spears and swords. 

Then Thor raises his voice and booms about war between realms and Loki’s heart feels pierced. Hot tears rise in his eyes. _How could he?! Why didn’t he listen when Loki warned him about the conspirators? How could he forget all what happened?_ Loki needs to talk to him _now_. Before it is too late. 

As Loki prepares to dart towards him, a steel grip fastens around his arm. He tries to rip himself free. 

“Behave yourself!” Freyja hisses. 

He takes a breath to beg her to let him go. To explain that he _needs_ to talk to the king. But before he can speak a single word, a sudden gust of wind sweeps through the hall, smelling all fresh and clean. A terrifying anticipation sends a shiver over Loki’s back. Besides him, Freyja takes a shuddering breath and a look around. 

Within a sudden silence, Loki sees water condense on the garden wall. A single snow flake drifts through the air. 

Then the garden wall explodes. 

Freyja gasps and pulls Loki away from the flying debris and backwards, until both their backs bump into the wall. In the middle of the hall boulders, which were once bricks of the wall between the throne hall and the gardens, tumble. Loki’s breath is taken away. In the middle of the pile of crumbled stones and drifting dust, a giant silhouette rises. 

All turn towards the Jotun in their middle. 

It’s a hulk of a Jotun, both arms covered in thick ice, eyes shining red like aesir blood. 

With a shriek, an Einherjar next to the giant swings his spear at him. The tip barely grates the ice when the giant roars so mightily the walls shake. He smashes the spear to the side, grips the unlucky soldier and smashes him into a group of Einherjar on his left, than into another group on his right. Finally he throws the limp body in the direction of the throne, knocking a third group of Einherjar down. 

This wakes the rest of the Einherjar from their frozen silence. With joint war screams troops charge at the giant. Yet, their weapons barely scratch the ice on his arms, while his punches with the sharp ice thorns rip open armor and flesh alike. 

Thunder sounds through the halls and overwhelming brightness blinds Loki. When his sight clears again, the giant is staggering backwards, a black burn signing his chest. With a roar, Thor charges at him, hammer in hand. The giant blocks the blow with an ice covered arm and for a second it seems the hammer has found a worthy opponent. 

Then the ice splinters and a howl of pain escapes the giant’s throat. He breaks down to his knees, holding his injured arm with the remaining good hand. Before him Thor rises, the hammer ready for the death blow. 

“NO!” Loki screams desperately before he can stop himself. His call dies away, unheard. 

Before Thor can deal the blow, an ice dagger whizzes through the air, tearing the armor on his arm open and drawing blood. Accompanied by crashing stone, frost giants charge from all around them toward the king. The Einherjar, who turned towards the giant in their middle, are taken by surprise by the giants in their backs. All around the hall screams resound, as many are impaled on ice thorns, crashed by giant arms or simply run down. 

The remaining ones scream in fear and flee towards the garden. Only few rush to the king’s side, building a small circle, spears pointing outwards. Thor, who had gripped his arm where the ice had cut it open, unbends himself to face the arrived enemies, a feral grin on his face. 

A shiver runs downs Loki’s back. He nearly doesn’t recognize Thor like this. Angrboda had told him stories of the mighty God of Thunder on the battlefield. But seeing Thor like this - the air crackling with impending lightning while Thor stands tall and unbending before the towering giants – makes Loki’s heart clench painfully. He doesn’t even know who he wants to win this battle.

Then hell breaks loose. 

From all sides the Jotnar throw ice blades at Thor. The hulk of a giant roars, swinging his left arm at the king, hauling Thor backwards. Thor roars in return, swinging his hammer in a low circle, sending Mjolnir flying at the beast. Loki’s heart stops. _What is he doing!???! HE MUSN’T FORSAKE HIS ONLY WEAPON!_

The hammer hits the giants head and with an earth-shaking thud the monster collapses. Yet, the last remaining Einherjar around Thor fall one after the other, pierced by razor-sharp ice daggers. One zips to close to Thor’s face, leaving a narrow red line on his brow. 

Panic surges up within Loki. He turns towards Freyja. “Quick! Free my magic! I MUST help!” Loki begs. 

Freyja’s breath goes quickly and her cheeks are paler than Loki has ever seen. She barely acknowledges him and only shakes her head.

“PLEASE!!!” Loki urges. 

“I can’t risk your life!” she hisses. “I need to bring you to safety!” 

But her eyes still follow the battle, her hand like steel on Loki’s arm. A crash sounds from the battle. Frantically, Loki’s eyes snap back to Thor. Somehow his hammer hit another giant further away. With unspoken wonder, Loki witnesses how Thor rises a hand and the hammer changes his flight path by itself, returning to its owner’s hands. 

The giants witnessed as much and with a collective roar three of them charge as one. Again Thor sends Mjolnir flying towards the one in the middle, but the giants do not even flinch. In the last second the giant gives way, sliding on his knees beneath the flying hammer towards the now unarmed king and coats his arm with ice. 

Thor lifts his hand and the hammer slows, changing directions to return. As one, the two giants on both sides of the warrior turn and lift their hands towards the weapon. With a flicker of seidr clump of ice forms around it, slowing its movement. Thor’s eyes widen, as the warrior charges towards him while the hammer gets caught by more and more ice. 

Besides Loki, Freyja moves as quick as a shadow. She whispers something. With a sharp chink the ice around the hammer breaks. The jotun warrior barely manages to dodge the hammer a second time, then it’s back in Thor’s hands. The third time he doesn’t manage to avoid the hit. Ice fragments spray when Thor’s strike hits the giant’s shoulder, sending him tumbling over the hulk-giants motionless body. 

But Freyja’s action did not remain unnoticed. Loki’s attention gets snapped back to himself when two giants turn towards them with bared teeth. Finally Freyja’s grip loosens. She dives towards a fallen sword, grabs it while rolling away from an ice-covered blow. 

With a battle scream she throws her seidr out, pulling one giant’s feet away while hacking the sword at the other one’s hip. The first one goes flying, but the second one evades her blow and strikes her instead. Luckily for her, it’s a quick, unaimed blow. The sharp tip misses, so she is merely thrown away by the ice and crashes into a pillar. 

Instinctively Loki reaches for his seidr to soften her impact and sudden pain flares through his mind. _THOSE CURSED BRACELETS!!!_ Frantically he snaps a chunk of stone and beats it against his left bracelet with full force, but it doesn’t even show a dent. 

Heavy steps approach Loki and his heart skips a beat. He winces back. Right before his eyes an ice-covered limb crashes down, spraying everything around with fine dust of ice. For a second he stares into hateful red eyes, and something within him cringes. Then he flicks the stone at the eyes and the giant flinches back, hissing. 

The fallen giant is raising in the background. He barks out a sudden, thunderous laughter. Then he jumps over his recoiling comrade and Loki’s breath is taken away. The next thing he is half crawling, half tumbling trough showering down dust and debris. Where to, he does not know. Something crashes down beside him, making him scream in terror. 

Something hits his side, sending him sliding across the floor. An overthrown column appears in front of him. Frantically he squishes himself beneath it. Behind him, heavy steps hurry past. His hands shake violently. He needs to find a way to open the bracelets, now.

Shaking, he peeks around. 

With a scream worthy of a Valkyrie, Freyja charges a frost giant, who barely manages to block her first and second blows. Then, she hurls the sword at him, not unlike Thor does it with the hammer, and with a sharp sound the sword sinks into the giants shoulder. He screams in rage and rips it from his body as if it was nothing, throwing it away. A golden light flares in Freyja’s hands. The giant screams in pain, reaching for his eyes, and topples down in front of her. 

She sways slightly on her feet. Behind her, an enormous silhouette rises. Loki wants to scream to warn her. It’s the hulk of a Jotun. Thor’s blow must have merely knocked him out. Blood trips down one side of his face and his left arm. Before Loki can shake off his fright, the hulk grabs Freyja and smashes her to the ground repeatedly. Loki clasps both his hands to his mouth, stifling a horrified scream.

Thor’s murderous scream shakes the walls. 

Out of nowhere Thor lunges, crushing the hammer at the blooded side of the Jotun’s head, sending him down, red eyes going dim. Freyja falls from the dead giant’s grip, rolling limply away. Frantic Loki prays to the Norns for her to not be dead. 

And with that, Thor unleashes his rage. 

He roars, whirling the hammer to the floor, ripping the stone apart and showering the giants around him with debris, followed by lighting. Dark clouds gather and quickly the first drops fall, until a full blown storm rages. Thor dashes from one enemy to the next, sending one after the other to his knees or on his back. Slowly, the remaining giants are forced to retreat. Loki shivers by the sight of it. 

Then Loki notices one giant, far older than the others, standing in the back and watching the battle. A group of five is gathered around him, while the fighting warriors are clearly drawing Thor away from the group. There is an ancient cruelness in the old Jotun’s face that makes Loki tremble. _They can’t win this battle! Why don’t they leave?!_

The old warrior squared his shoulders. “Time to end this, tyrant,” he barks and hurls a boulder at Thor. 

Thor whirls around smiting the boulder with a quick strike. “I accept your surrender!” he laughs and sends Mjolnir flying towards the old Jotun. The group gathered around the warrior turns towards him. Sorcerers. All those around him were sorcerers! Seidr is already glittering between their hands. 

“NO!” Loki cries. But the hammer already reaches them. The warrior does not simply dodge. In the last second he turns to his side, gripping the hammer’s handle in midair. Thor’s thunderous laughter resounds. “You think you are worthy, fool!?!” 

With a thud the hammer drops down, forcing the old man to bend. But the giant only grins. “I don’t need to be.” 

With a blaze of light, the sorcerers coat the hammer with ice that keeps growing by the second, nailing Mjolnir to the ground. 

Thor’s grin drops. He snaps up a hand, obviously expecting the hammer to return to him. A tremble goes through the floor and walls, but the hammer remains within the ice. Thor’s eyes widen. Loki’s heart skips a beat. Again. Panicking, he crawls from beneath the column. He can’t let them slaughter the king. He can’t!

From behind Thor, five giants appear. He dodges one, punches a second and manages to make two more crash into each other. The fifth, however, delivers a heavy punch to Thor’s chest, sending him flying to the old warrior’s feet. With a sickening sound, Thor hits the floor, rolling further. At once two more giants are upon him, twisting his arms behind his back, forcing him to his knees before the old Jotun. 

The warrior smiles cruelly down on Thor, coating his arm in ice. “You killed our King, his mate and son, filth! Finally Jotunheim gets its long overdue justice.” 

Thor laughs cold. “Kill me and Jotunheim gets drowned in blood. If you really care for your realm, retreat!” 

“I don’t take your orders, tyrant!” the old Jotun sneers, lifting his sharp ice to Thor’s chest. Thor meets his glance, grinning ferociously. 

Loki’s heart clenches. He can’t let them kill Thor. But with his magic bound there is only one thing he can do. Tears fall from his closed eyes, as he shifts to his native form. 

“BUT YOU WILL TAKE MINE!” Loki roars. Within a moment all eyes are on him. There is no going back. 

They stare. Thor and Jotnar alike. Some gap at him, some gasp. One traces Loki’s heritage lines with his eyes and breathes a soft “our prince.” Two of the sorcerers move away from the hammer, craning their necks past the giants standing between them and Loki. The glitter of seidr on their hands fades away. 

The old Jotun is the first to shake of his shock. His eyes are full of burning hatred when he returns his glance to Thor. “YOU STOLE OUR PRINCE!!!” he screams and strikes at Thor, who flinches aside, just barely able to avoid the ice. 

A mighty hum fills the air. With a crash, Mjolnir frees itself from the ice and strikes the old giant’s back, sending him tumbling over the king and the two Jotun warriors beside him. With his hammer back in his hands, they are no match for Thor. Quickly he strikes both, sending them falling to their backs. Roaring, the old warrior turns around and lunges at Thor, but there is no sense to it. Ice crashes into metal and with a crunch the ice arming the giant’s limb breaks. 

A second they stare into each other’s eyes, growling and hissing. Then, with a last mighty blow, Thor smites the old warrior’s head. 

Panic breaks out. 

Frantically the remaining Jotun flee, jumping through the break towards the garden. Clashing of weapons resound and Einherjar flood the hall from the inner parts of the palace, Hogun leading them. 

In the middle of the uproar stands Thor, his eyes meeting Loki’s with incomprehension and hurt. Fear bubbles up in Loki, as it dawns on him what he has done. He revealed himself. Right at the heart of the enemy. Terrified, he shifts back to his Aesir form. 

But it is too late, of course. 

Rough hands grab him, hauling him down, pushing his face to the floor and twisting his arms behind his back. 

 

* * *

Thor drops to his knees beside Freyja, turning her to her back with trembling hands. Her forehead and one side of her skull are bruised, a small trickle of blood running down her cheek. 

He can’t think. Everything feels numb. 

Blinking repeatedly he holds a hand before her mouth, waiting fearfully. 

When a soft brush of air strikes his hand he nearly collapses of relief. Her lids flutter. He shakes her carefully and she moans. 

“Freyja!” Thor begs. She moans again and opens her eyes. He grants her a shaky smile. 

“Thank the Norns!” Thor breathes. “Mother would have killed me if anything had happened to you.” 

To that she only groans. She lifts a hand and touches softly her bruised face. “You are insufferable,” she says and struggles until she reaches a sitting position, only to groan once more. “My head spins.”  
Suddenly she tenses, throwing hectic glances around. “Loki!” she gasps. “Where is he?” 

Thor’s heart clenches painfully. 

“Did you know?” He demands hoarsely. 

Her expression grows fearful. “Did I know what?”

Thor swallows, but he can’t say it. He presses his eyes shut and turns away. Steps approach. 

“THOR! Tell me, what happened!” she pleads.

“He will, but not here.” Odin’s calm voice saves Thor from answering. With a slightly trembling hand, he wipes his face and nods. 

 

* * *

They gather in Fensalir, Frigga’s garden. Freyja sits on a bench beside Frigga and presses a snow filled cloth to her head, eye’s slightly clouded by the pain-relieving potions. Most of the bruises are already fading, thanks to Eir. Thor clings to his mead-filled tankard while he recalls the events of the battle. Odin and Frigga listen with stern expressions. 

When he is finished, Frigga rises and lays her arms around him, silently. Gratefully, he lets his head rest on her shoulder, as long as it seems appropriate. She pets his cheek, as he finally recedes, her eyes full of empathy. 

“Who ordered him imprisoned?” Odin asks solemnly and again pain pierces Thor. 

“I don’t know. What does it matter?” Thor hisses. 

“He is a prince, nonetheless. It might have been wiser to grant him _more official_ quarters. Jotunheim might see this as an act of war,” Odin retorts, unmoved. 

“THEY attack us! THEY came to kill me! And now THEY would see this as an act of war?” Thor snaps. 

“This was an act of but a few. With their prince in our middle they would never have attacked if they had known,” Odin disagrees, still calm. 

“HE SPIED ON US FOR YEARS!” Thor barks, the hurt of betrayal ripping him apart. “He manipulated me! And I … I …” His heavy breathing keeps Thor from speaking. He grits his teeth and paces with rage. 

“Nonsense,” Odin snorts. “Nobody sends a prince to spy. Besides, did you not just tell us that it was his appearance that freed Mjolnir from the sorcerers’ spell?” 

Thor stares at the Allfather, gaping. 

“WHAT DO YOU WANT, OLD MAN? Didn’t YOU make the Einherjar tear the accursed ice open for the body of the wretched beast for weeks? Congratulations! You can finally nail him to the gates!” Thor yells. 

His three listeners stare at Thor in silence. Somewhere, insects chirp. 

“Keep your rage at bay, Thor,” Odin pronounces softly, still cuttingly sharp, his expression darkening. Thor takes several deep breathes before he meets the Allfather’s gaze again. Odin scrutinizes him and finally nods. 

“I did order the search for him. But I never intended to kill him,” Odin states. 

“What then?” Thor snaps, flinches and adds weakly, “I wish to understand.” 

“I wanted to take him in. To bring lasting peace one day. Raise him along you, perhaps.” Odin sighs and turns away. “But those plans do not matter anymore.” 

The thought alone feels weird. Thor tries to imagine how it would have been to have Loki around for so long. Such a bitter-sweet fantasy. Shared adventures. Hunting game in the forests of Vanaheim together. Just to have Loki and his cutting wit around him, every day. Something within him yearns for it. Thor dispels the vision with an angry head shake. 

“So what now?” Thor asks. 

Odin hums. “Due to your words, the Jotun didn’t expect him here which leads to the question who placed him on Asgard.”

“His uncle!” Freyja reminds. 

“Yes. We need to find and question him.” Odin nods. “Too many of the attackers managed to escape. They will return home and tell the tale. You need to think what you will tell Helblindi when he asks for his brother.”

Did Thor’s head ache for longer already or did it start just now? He groans, wiping his face. Suddenly, he feels every single bone and muscle he possesses. Frigga’s comforting hands guide him to the bench and he lets himself slump down on it. He glances at Odin wearily. 

“I… I don’t know.” Thor groans. “What do you suggest?” 

Odin snorts. “Do you long for war? Or do you prefer peace?” 

Thor buries his face in his hands, elbows probed on his knees. Freyja lays a hand on his shoulder while they wait for his response. He remembers the fight. The skipped beat of his heart when the hulk of a giant smashed Freyja to the floor. The guarded expressions of the sycophants of the council.  
Had it been this what they wanted to achieve? Thor grits his teeth. 

“Jotun prince or not – I refuse to become a puppet of those conspirators,” Thor growls. Odin gives him an appreciative nod. 

“Then restore order in your realm and be prepared to give Helblindi as much as he needs to remain devoted.” Odin’s eyes narrow dangerously. “And silence your sentiments. You can’t risk to veil your reason.” 

With that Odin leaves. Freyja hums something about Eir and follows him out. Within the silence, Thor feels his pain again. Softly fabric rustle as Frigga sits beside him. She lets him sit in silence. 

Eventually he snorts and shakes his head. “Just why?” he asks without expecting answer. 

“I … “, he starts voice growing hoarse. “Why did …” He groans. “No. Don’t answer that.” 

Beside him, Frigga’s lips twist into a sad smile. 

Again, he groans. “I guess he did not really have a choice, did he? Not after we ordered all youth…” Thor rolls his eyes. “… or better – all the girls and …” 

A sudden realization takes his breath away. He turns to Frigga, straitening his back. “Did you know of him? What he is?” Thor demands. Frigga averts her gaze. 

“Mother!” He urges and grabs her upper arms, turning her gently towards him. When she faces him her expression is torn. 

“I had seen him,” she confesses. 

Again emotions rise in Thor. “But then, why didn’t you tell us to take him right away? Why did you let him allure me like this?” he pleads, deeply hurt. 

She pets his cheek with tears in her eyes. “You know I can’t talk about what I have seen, my dear.”

He presses his eyes shut. Her warm arms fold around him. He takes a shuddering breath. 

When he looks at her again, she smiles tearfully. “This tale is not over, yet.”


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNING: violence, torture, secondary character death. 
> 
> In more words: this chapter will be the darkest of the story, I swear. If you want to skip it, I understand and will add a small summery at the beginning of the next. In the end, everything will be fine, I promise. 
> 
> And of course I would like to thank dear [Ensignanna](https://ensignanna.tumblr.com/) so much for beta - reading and her comments, which are a great source of strength for me! :) Thank you!!!

No stars shine on the golden city this night. 

Fog and clouds drift from the hole in the sky, overshadowing the realm and spreading goosebumps on the bare arms of its king. The silence is deafening. Not even the birds of the night sing anymore. With each hour, the temperature drops. 

On his balcony, high above the city, Thor stands within the night, clutching the tankard like his last loyal comrade-in-arms. The floor already heaves like a ship. Since the fruity scent of mead exchanged its appetizing charm for a nauseating sting some hours ago. 

Yet, Thor can’t set it down. He groans and presses two fingers against his head above his eyes. 

He should go to sleep. In less than six hours, the sun will rise again, and then decisions will be expected of him. 

A freezing squall blows some snowflakes in his face. He sighs and lowers his hand, allowing the breeze to caress his headache away. When it ebbs away, he stumbles back inside, collapsing on the bed as he is, listening to the clinging of the tankard rolling under the bed. 

Good. 

He must not start pondering again. 

Like he did the last three times he attempted to find rest. 

He listens. 

But no bird voices, no leave rustles. 

Only his breath breaks the silence. 

Beneath him the solid pressure of the bed sways as a boat. He chuckles.

It must been years since mead made his head spin like this. 

Eventually drowsiness embraces him. 

Like a lover’s touch. 

Suddenly Loki’s face floats before him, eyes wide in terror when the guards grabbed him. Thor cringes violently. The next moment he is on his feet again, searching for the tankard, hands shaking. He needs more mead. He spits a curse. 

How did this little shit DARE to haunt Thor’s dreams?! 

Hadn’t it been enough that he spied on him for years? Hadn’t it been enough for him to trap Thor in his lies of easy chatter? Did he have to take the sleep from him as well? And where did the three-fold damned tankard go? 

Something glitters beneath the table. It was, in fact, not under the bed. Or it was a second one, maybe. Does not matter! Thor bends to fish it out. But then the floor jumps in his face, throwing Thor towards the table, crushing his head on the top and his knee on the table`s leg. Pain flares like fire. 

Thor’s rage is released in a violent burst! He roars. 

He grabs the table and throws it against the wall. Wood splinters and papers are whirled up like feathers. Instant satisfaction. 

Thor takes a deep breath. At least the pain had cleared his head a little. This must end now. 

Spitting another curse, he calls Mjolnir to his hand. 

No matter what mother said. If he tried to wait any longer to question Loki, he would surely die of insomnia or intoxication. 

He was a king. Clearly, he was just as able to remain calm today, as he would be in four days.

* * *

The barrier around the cell shines just as bright during the night as during the days, illuminating each and every corner with agonizing clarity. Probably just as intended. This way it leaves no place to hide. Just open display of everything. No secrets. 

The barrier surrounds the cell on three sides, leaving only the back wall non-transparent. 

When they dragged him in, the other prisoners had whistled and hooted. At first he sat at the middle of the back wall, but some bulky and hairy abominations in an opposing cell two blocks further had pestered him with never ending cat calls and obscene gestures. 

Now he cowers in the far corner, where he is blocked from any other inmate’s view. Sadly, that forced him to sit uncomfortably close to the barrier and its unnerving hum. But at least it’s not calling him names. He sits there, arms around his legs, face pressed to his knees, blending out the rest of the world. 

At least the guards only spend a few minutes on commenting when they passed him on their rounds. 

And the later the hour, the more they tired of his hoarse sobs. Loki wishes he could stifle the sobs as well. 

But he couldn’t. 

Angrboda was right. 

He WAS a fool. 

What did he think? 

What did he think??

This foolish plan! Why couldn’t he just keep his head down until Amora or Lorelei were chosen as the queen? Why hadn’t he kept quiet just once in his cursed life? WHY DIDN’T HE STAY AT HOME LIKE ANGRBODA HAD SAID??? 

Violent sobs battle their way out of his throat. He pierces his fingers into the flesh on his legs. 

HOW COULD HE BE SO DAMN STUPID?!?

He throws his head back until his skull crashes against the stone wall. Once. Twice. Thrice he crashes his skull to the wall. The dull pain joins the headache and burn of his eyes. Then he lets his face fall to his knees. He can nearly hear Angrboda’s voice, speaking of reason in a tone of strained patience. 

He deserves this. He should have listened! 

Why didn’t he listen? 

WHY DIDN’T HE LISTEN?!

Loki screams. He screams until his strength leaves him and his voice breaks. 

Somewhere in the distance metal clatters. 

Loki goes slack and closes his eyes.

That was it. He would be a prisoner of war, used to press even more duties out of Jotunheim, until the end of times. He would never see his brothers. A bitter laugh escapes his throat. In a way, it was better never to see them again than to stand before them, knowing it was his fault the icy realm would be drained even more than ever. 

Fatigue drowns everything. 

A sharp pain on his shoulder makes Loki flinch. He nearly fell asleep, sinking towards the barrier that snapped him awake again when he touched it. Moaning, he rights himself, shaking his head. A back pain joins the pounding at the back of his skull, headache and burn of his eyes. 

He wipes his nose on his sleeve and presses his hurting eyes shut. 

He deserves this. 

The steps of a guard approach and Loki resumes his position, hoping to discourage the guard from mocking or gloating.

He takes one shuddering breath after the other until the steps stop at the other side of the barrier. But the guard doesn’t speak. An eerie feeling creeps up Loki’s back, yet he doesn’t want to lift his gaze. That is probably only what the guard wants. 

A soft rustle indicated the guard actually squatted down beside him. It makes Loki’s skin crawl. Why can’t he leave already? 

“Oh my sweet nephew,” sighs the guard and Loki’s eyes snap open. 

The guard’s bearded face is completely unknown to Loki, but the sad familiarity in his eyes can’t be mistaken. Loki’s breath halts. 

“No, no, no, no,” Loki pleads, tearing up. “What are you doing here!? You must go! Save yourself! _Please_!” The hot tears on his cheeks burn like acid. 

Angrboda’s expression turns dark. “And leave you here? Do you truly think I would abandon you without one attempted rescue?” 

A hoarse sob escapes Loki. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. This is all my fault! You were right, you’ve always been right. But you must go! They mustn’t get you as well! They…” Loki’s voice breaks and he takes desperate breaths, his eyes darting towards the passage. “Please, Uncle! Someone might come and see you! Leave for Jotunheim at once! I can only keep up, as long as I know that you are safe!” 

Angrboda’s gaze softens and he sights. “Nonsense,” he chides. “Who would visited the dungeons at an hour like this?” 

Still, Loki’s heart pounds painfully. He shakes his head frantically. “Please, please, please! You mustn’t risk getting caught!!”

Angrboda rolls his eyes with a mischievous smile. “Worry not, Loki. All guards are sleeping and one of the emergency barriers is activated blocking the entrance – I made sure of that.” 

“But the royal family …” Loki starts to protest, but Angrboda takes tree white spheres out and puts them down at the front barrier. For an instant nothing seems to happen, but then, one after another, they begin to glow dimly. Loki frowns.

“What is that?” 

“Energy reservoirs. Drained energy reservoirs to be specific. There were guards at our house when I came back so I had to improvise and stole them from the healer’s wing. They will absorb the energy of the barrier, until you can pass more or less unharmed.”

“It will take too long!” Loki worries, fidgeting. 

Angrboda hushes softly. Loki can see it in his pose that he would have embraced him if it weren’t for the barrier between them. “While we wait, you can tell me what happened,” Angrboda suggests softly. Loki takes another glance around, swallowing, before agreeing. 

The whole tale sounds excruciatingly ridiculous when he recalls it. How could it have been so silly and simple? His face burns when he finishes and he keeps looking at his trembling hands to avoid Angrboda’s eyes. After a while Angrboda sights. Despite knowing better, Loki looks up. Just in time to see Angrboda wipe his face, looking tired but not too disapproving. 

“It was wise of you to protect the oaf-king,” Angrboda finally admits disdainfully. “The leader of the invader party aimed to annihilate him and that would surely have evoked war. That leader’s death might be the only positive thing that happened today.” 

Loki stares at him. Never had he heard Angrboda speak of anyone like this. Angrboda shrugs off Loki’s dismay. “He was evil. That can happen in the noblest of races,” he states, unmoved. 

“You… you are not angry?” Loki wonders hopefully. Instantly, he regrets his question when a frown appears on Angrboda’s face. 

“There would have been worse alternatives,” Angrboda corrects him sternly. “There would have been better, too. But we will be back on Jotunheim in a few hours and by then it won’t matter any longer. Your actions might even prove valuable for future negotiations.” 

Loki swallows and closes his eyes for an instant. He doesn’t dare to hope, yet something warm unfolds in his breast. Finally, he would see Jotunheim properly! 

The barrier of the cell flickers slightly while its glow dims. 

“I can’t wait to finally meet my brothers,” Loki confesses softly and Angrboda smiles weakly. 

“They will be glad, too,” Angrboda consents. “Helblindi asked for you before anything else.” And then he tells Loki his part of the tale. After he is done, Loki catches himself rubbing his palm with his thumb and makes himself stop.

“So, it truly _is_ Malekit, who tries to entangle Asgard and Jotunheim in this war!” Loki bites his lip. “Poor Byleistr. He must feel horrible. What punishment do you think will Helblindi speak over him?” 

Angrboda takes a deep breath. “From the moment he realized the truth, he acted bravely, like a true prince should.” He pauses. When he continues, his voice is bitter. “Yet, punishment is unavoidable. But certainly only after the negotiations with Asgard are finished. The exact form of his punishment might be part of those, too.” 

“Oh,” Loki breathes, staring at his hands in silence. 

Suddenly, Angrboda turns. Immediately Loki is on edge. “What?” he hisses but Angrboda lifts a hand.

“I thought I heard something.”

“Go!” Loki gasps desperately. “Pretend to patrol!” 

“I’ll just check quickly,” Angrboda agrees hesitantly. He raises smoothly and takes a few steps down the hallway. Then Loki hears the thunderous steps approaching, and his blood freezes. Loki jumps to his feet, staring down the hall while praying for the steps belonging to just another guard. To someone weak, someone easy to send to sleep with seidr. 

But then Thor turns around the corner and spots them. 

Angrboda freezes.

 _‘Flee!_ ’ Loki wants to cry, but he cannot. For an instant, Thor and Angrboda just stare at each other. Then Thor snorts. 

“At least someone here still does his duty,” he grunts, gesturing with Mjolnir in his hand towards the entrance. “The emergency barrier is active! As much as I appreciate the additional security, this is hardly an emergency.” 

Loki stares at him speechless. Did Thor just sway on his feet? Doomed to watch helplessly, he clenches his fists. 

Luckily Angrboda is quick to bow. “I shall see into it at once, your majesty,” he affirms and turns towards the entrance. But Thor blocks his way, holding up Mjolnir. 

“And tell the others to man the entrance at once! And as long as we didn’t find his so called Uncle,” Thor points Mjolnir towards Loki, “there could be attempts to free him. As long as he is here, you will patrol in pairs as well. Understood?” 

“Of course, your majesty,” Angrboda confirms smoothly. 

Thor grimaces and wipes his face. “Good.” He groans. “I am already imagining enemies behind every corner. Try to do the same to stay alert.” 

“I already do, your majesty,” Angrboda agrees dryly. 

Thor gives him an appreciative nod. “Very well. You do seem attentive. Make sure to inspire the rest of the guards to do so as well.” Thor grunts and shakes his head. “I am so tired I am already starting to see things. Does this barrier seem dim to you?” 

Loki swallows. But Angrboda looks unmoved as stone as he admires the failing barrier. “No,” He deadpans. 

Thor frowns. For a second it seems his suspicion is sparked. But the second passes and his shoulders sack down. “I must be mistaken,” he agrees, frowning, and lowers the hammer. 

Loki dares to take a breath. Everything would be fine. Thor would allow Angrboda to leave. Everything would be fine. 

Thor dismisses Angrboda, who turns towards the entrance, with a nod. He is nearly past Thor, when the king sights and pats his shoulder in a supposedly affirmative fashion. It would have been a nice gesture. If his hand hadn’t passed right through the illusion of the guard’s shoulder meeting Angrboda’s natural skin. 

Angrboda freezes. 

Thor gaps at his hand, from which a rapid wave of glowing seidr wanders over Angrboda’s body. The light-skinned, bearded illusion of a guard dissolves, giving way to Angrboda’s naturally blue skin. 

Time itself freezes and Loki’s heart stops. He can’t stifle a desperate wail. 

Thor pales and blinks. Painfully slow, his eyes wander to meet Angrboda’s gaze. “YOU are his uncle.” 

“Adopted,” Angrboda corrects him casually and returns to his natural size. “And now allow me to finish my mission.” 

Thor starts to back off, but stumbles as his feet fail him and drops unceremoniously on his butt. Swiftly Angrboda is over him, putting a big hand on his forehead. Thor’s eyes widen and he grips Angrboda’s wrist to drag his hand away. But instead of ice, golden seidr washes over Thor and instantly his lids sink and his movements slow. 

Angrboda hushes softly as Thor’s defenses weaken. Loki stares in awe. He had seen Angrboda’s sleep-spells before, but to see the mighty king himself being subdued by it was quite a sight. Even now Angrboda tries not to hurt the king. A sudden stab of guilt and love for his uncle adds to Loki’s whirl of emotions. 

Mjolnir falls from Thor’s slackening hand with a thud. Startled, the abominations wake up in their cell. It’s their surprised yells that jerks Thor from the influence of the sleep-spell. Blinking drowsily, he squirms to escape Angrboda’s grip on his head. It’s pointless, but the movement wakes him further. Then his eyes narrow and Mjolnir jumps back to his hand. Angrboda dodges the following blow just by a hair. 

Hissing, he backs off, while Thor pulls himself together. 

Loki needs to help him! Stirred by instinct, Loki presses forward but the front barrier repels him with a flash of pain. Howling in frustration, he punches it, only to get zapped a second time. There was no way for Angrboda to best Thor without the advantage of the surprise! 

Repeatedly Thor shakes his head, dispelling the left-over drowsiness. The more he sobers up, the more furious his expression grows. He charges. Unlike the brutish moves of the Jotun warriors in the throne hall, Angrboda’s way of fighting looks like he’s dancing, his dodges looking entirely effortless. Thor bares his teeth and growls. 

Sneering, he throws Mjolnir. However, straight-line throws were even easier to dodge than blows and this time Angrboda just steps aside, lifting an eyebrow at Thor. Loki swallows drily. He knew furious enemies were likely to act unreasonable, but goading Thor even more might be unwise. 

Loki’s eyes rush around the dungeon in search for something, _anything_ helpful. The barrier! After his punch it’s not even half as bright as other barriers. Again he throws himself against it with all his weight. Flaring pain answers his attempt when it pushes him back. But it starts flickering even more. 

Thor’s roaring “NOO!” shakes the dungeon, making Loki’s eyes snap back to the fight, his heart pounding in fear for Angrboda. But Thor and Angrboda both stare at him. While Angrboda’s expression is proud and hopeful, Thor’s eyes spark with rage. 

His eyes dark with determination, Thor lifts Mjolnir and blinding light flashes along with deafening thunder. 

“NOOOOOO” Loki shrieks, clawing and pounding the barrier. “NOOO, NO, NO, NOOO, PLEASE NO!” Sobbing and begging, he squishes in the foremost corner between stone and the barrier to follow the fight as Thor forces Angrboda to retreat from Loki’s cell. 

Angrboda staggers backwards, hands lifted before him, palms smoking and darkened by the bolt. His eyes are wide and he pants. Yet, seemingly he managed to ward himself against the worst. All other prisoners have backed off to the far end of the cells, terror in their faces. 

“NO! PLEASE DON’T HURT HIM! PLEASE! PLEASE!! DON’T! DON’T!!!” Loki cries frantically, throwing himself again and again to the barrier. 

But again Thor charges Angrboda, chasing him forward and back until both are panting. 

Another lightning bolt quakes the stone walls. 

“PLEASE!” Loki screams at the top of his lungs, sobbing. Hot tears flow down his cheeks. His nails break as he scratches the barrier and blood runs down the glowing force field. But he feels no pain. 

His voice breaks as he pleads Thor to spare Angrboda. 

Another of Thor’s strikes sends Angrboda crashing against the barrier of an opposing cell, nearly out of Loki’s sight. Light flashes as the barrier repels him. Angrboda staggers and falls to a knee. 

Thor roars as he lifts Mjolnir. 

“NOOOOOOOO!” Loki screams. 

Then the hammer crashes down on Angrboda’s head. 

Loki’s heart stops. 

Angrboda’s body slackens as he collapses. 

Loki screams, calling for Angrboda to move. To show any sign of life. He begs. 

But there is no answer, no movement. 

Between him and the lifeless form of his uncle stands Thor, his back facing Loki, his shoulders rising in sync with his panting breath. 

Guards come running from the entrance, stopping dead in their tracks as they spot the scene.

“Take care of that,” Thor orders and steps over Angrboda’s body and leaves, without taking a look back. 

Loki screams and cries for Angrboda until the guards drag him away by his feet, leaving a trail of dark red. 

He calls for Angrboda while they take away the spheres and the barrier regains its original strength. 

He cries until his voice breaks and his legs surrender as exhaustion makes him break down.

* * *

When the sun rises over the golden city, Thor finally sends for Eir. He waits sitting on the floor in the coldest and darkest corner of his quarters, his back against a soothing stone wall, while trying not to think of the piercing screams haunting him. He takes a shuddering breath. His hands won’t stop trembling. 

When Eir enters after what feels like centuries, light as bright as the heart of the sun pierces Thor’s eyes. He moans and presses them shut. Quick, soft steps tell of her hastily making way towards him. The well-known feeling of her seidr washing over him makes Thor moan again, this time in relief. 

“Your majesty.” Her stern voice inspires him to finally open his eyes and meet her gaze. “Did you get any sleep at all?” 

He simply shakes his head. 

“And therefore you decided to drink mead all night.” The reprimanding note in her voice is unmistakable. He sighs. 

“Did you drink any water?” 

Another head shake. 

“Please, your majesty. The battle drained you. Under no circumstances should you drain any more liquids from your body by drinking mead now. The council was already informed of the second attack and will not meet until tonight. Until then you must drink water only and rest!” 

“I can’t…” Thor starts weakly, but her glower shuts him up. 

“With all due respect, your highness. Do not make me bear this concern to the Allfather.” 

Exhaustion makes his whole body hurt. He wants to tell her why he can’t sleep, why he needs to drink as much mead as possible and why he needs a sleep potion urgently. But he is so tired. And her adamant stare sucks the last of his strength out of him. He had fought so much today. She would never understand. Why fight at all if there was no sense to it? 

He shuts his eyes and lets his head fall back to the wall. Then he nods. 

“Good,” she states drily and leaves. 

He drags himself to the keg of water which someone had left as a replacement for his mead keg and starts drinking. The water tastes slightly of ash, but he forces it down anyway. His chest feels hollowed. 

Screams echo in his mind. The sudden cold of water flowing over his hands pulls him back to the reality of his violently shaking hands. He plunks heavily on the bed. He should lay down. But even that would take too much strength so he just sits there while the time goes by. 

Eventually, a sharp knock on the door sounds and Tyr waltzes in, ranting of great victories, necessary information acquisition and permissions. Thor tries hard to follow but the words merge like colors in water. At some point Tyr must have been satisfied and left again. 

Thor spreads out on the bed and waits for the sleep. Screams ring in his ears and pain stabs his heart. He shivers. 

Eventually everything blurs. 

His dreams are filled with desperate screams and begging. For a second he feels like seeing Heimdall’s dark and solemn face, yellow eyes boring into Thor’s blue ones. Then something shifts and the screams become fearful and pained. 

Fire blazes. 

A frantic pounding makes Thor jump from his sleep right into battle. 

It takes a moment until he recognizes it as a knock on the doors. He curses. His eyes burn. His body hurts like having been chewed and spit out by a bilgesnipe. He calls the visitor in and groans when he hears how rasp his voice sounds. If this is Tyr again, it better be a true urgency. 

But it’s not Tyr, but Ullr that enters. Thor sits up and rubs his eyes. 

“Your majesty,” Ullr stammers. “Heimdall sends me!” He wrings his hands, eyes darting towards the door. 

Thor groans. Shall it be everything, but please not another attack! This day must have been the worst of the whole century already. “So?” 

Ullr swallows. “The prisoner has called for you.” 

That Thor wakes entirely. “What?!” 

“Yes. Tyr is attending him for hours already. Heimdall said, he endured much more than any other of the prisoners before he called for him, but Tyr refuses to take orders from anyone but…” 

“TYR DOES WHAT?!” Thor bellows so loud Ullr flinches back. 

“He… he… he said…” Ullr starts, but Thor is already heading to the balcony while calling for Mjolnir. Tyr’s reputation was known to all. Thor spits a curse. That was what Tyr had come for! And he had been too dull to understand. 

The memory of screams rips his ears apart. 

“Get Eir to the dungeons at once,” he barks and lets Mjolnir pull him off the ground. 

It’s not a long fly to the dungeons, but every second feels too long. 

Nausea rises in him when his feet meet the stone floor before the entrance of the dungeons, but he forces himself to rush in without missing a beat. 

And then he hears Loki scream. 

“ENOUGH,” he roars when he storms around the last corner. All heads snap towards him. Their eyes widen as they see the sparks springing from Thor’s hands. 

Including Tyr, there are four of them. Two hold Loki’s arms up behind his back, forcing him to kneel before Tyr. Whatever he wore is now hanging from his shoulders in rags. Under the remains of the fabric his chest is covered with blisters and bleeding burn wounds. 

Beside Tyr, the last henchman stands gaping at Thor, his hand on the handle of a forgotten brand iron resting in a brazier beside him. 

Again Loki wails, voice hoarse and nearly unrecognizable. He squirms and wriggles, but the henchmen’s grip on him holds. His cheeks are shining wet and sweat drips down every visible inch of his skin. 

Pale aesir skin as Thor notices with a pinch. 

Without cease he whimpers and arches, trying to free himself, eyes unseeing and breath coming in puffs. 

“OUT!” Thor thunders as he storms right through the barrier. Tyr’s expression darkens and the henchmen swallow while exchanging looks. One of the men that hold Loki’s arms even opens his mouth to object so Thor jostles him away, ripping Loki from their grip. Loki shrieks and arches in his arms. 

The smell of burnt flesh stings Thor’s nose.

“Stop it!” Thor snaps. “That will only make it hurt worse.” 

There is no sign Loki even hears him. He sobs and wriggles in Thor’s arms, spraying them both with blood and sweat. Even the air in the cell burns hot as an oven. 

Thor curses.

He lifts Loki up, trying to avoid touching the burns and dashes through the barrier towards the dungeon entrance. Loki twists so much he nearly drops him two times until they make it out of the dungeon. Thor had hoped the colder air would soothe the pain at least a bit, but no effect is perceptible. 

There are wells and fountains everywhere around the golden city to water the horses during the blazing summer heat. One of them happens to be right next to the dungeons. 

Thor races to it, crossing the rim with one step und dipping them both in the cold water. Loki arches and screams piercingly as the water touches the burns. After the first shock he stiffens, but stops screaming. Instead he clings to Thor, pressing his eyes shut and breathing heavily. 

Only then Thor gets the time to catch up with the events, while he sits in the well and holds Loki in his arms. A small flock of guards watches them from the dungeons portal, the faces amused or hesitant. The cold water fills Thor’s boots, and soaks his pants and armor up to his waist. Slowly the water grows reddish, but the cold seems to soothe the worst of Loki’s pain. 

He still pants. 

But less. 

Thor groans. Loki would blame him for this. Rightfully so, he fears. Thor grits his teeth. A gust of wind brushes over them, carrying the coldness from the portal with it. Thor takes a considered breath and forces himself to stay calm and await Eir. 

But first, certain things had do come first. 

As Tyr emerges from the prison, his expression is furious, but he simply marches past the soaked royalty and heads towards the palace. Thor presses his lips shut and curses him silently. Right now he would not be able to guaranty anyone’s safety if goaded any more. 

_Try to bring this matter up in the small council,_ Thor thinks seething, _I dare you!_

Finally Eir arrives with Ullr carrying a large bag in tow. Thor calls them lest they rush past him in hurry. Eir’s eyes widen as she spots them. But she asks no questions and simply sits on the rim, starting to tend to the damage with seidr. Instantly, Loki’s relief is perceptible as his tensed muscles soften and his breath calms. 

For a second his eyes flicker open and their gazes meet. For a second the torment standing in his eyes gives way to a realization. Then he shuts his eyes and all emotion is banished from his face. 

Loki is entirely limp while Thor holds him during Eir’s treatment. After quite a while, she sighs and gestures him to exit the well. After his violent squirming, the slack body feels eerily lifeless as Thor lifts Loki and carefully lays him on the ground. But Loki’s breath goes regularly and a steady flow of tears runs from his closed eyes. 

Thor swallows another groan. 

Nothing of this should be happening! He draws a labored breath. 

They should both be unhurt and investigating Njord and those other conspirators. They should be talking and joking. That was enjoyable. This – all of this – was just wrong. 

_‘But that was a lie, wasn’t it? He was the lost prince this whole time. You just didn’t know. Would you really prefer to be his toy?’_ Thor mind teases him, but somehow the thought has lost its sting. 

Eir fishes an ointment out of the bag and starts applying it. Loki flinches slightly, but only on the first touch. His breath sharpens though. 

Thor presses his lips to a thin line. Suddenly all the pain of his sore muscles, his headache, the burn of his eyes and back returns and presses him down. How in all the nine realms was he supposed to right this mess? 

“That’s it.” Eir startles him. “I will return each day to tend to the burns. Where will he be?” 

Thor blinks and ponders. Eventually he grunts, “For now – where he was. The guards will let only you in. Should he be moved, you will be informed.” 

She nods briefly and leaves with a last scolding glance, which Thor feels piercing him even without meeting her gaze. Yet, his attention is distracted as Loki stirs and rises. Thor swallows to dispel the lump in his throat, searching for words, but Loki just stands there, straight as an arrow and eyes ahead. 

Awkwardly, Thor picks himself up and gestures a guard. 

The whole time Thor takes to instruct the guards, Loki stares straight ahead without showing any reaction. Eventually the guard nods and his gaze wanders between Thor and Loki, an unasked question in his eyes. 

Thor looks at Loki and draws a breath, but no words come to mind, so he just nods, allowing the guard to lead Loki away. 

When he’s gone, a breeze pulls at Thor’s hair and cape, blowing petals and leaves over the pavement. 

He sighs and drags himself back to the palace, leaving a trail of puddles. 

Time to face the council.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to my beta @ensignanna for helping me. You can find her Tumblr [here](https://ensignanna.tumblr.com/)!

The hum of the barrier drowns out everything. 

At least if he lies close enough. 

So he lies there, mere inches between his face and the humming field. 

Drowning the rest of the world in light and humming. 

It has been three days.

The first one he spent screaming. Starting with desperation, continuing with rage. He craved revenge. Then his mind found someone to put the blame on. 

Why didn’t he _order_ Angrboda to go and leave him there? 

The guards had spent nearly an hour cleaning the hallway’s floor, but the remains of the red trail were still visible if you knew where to look. And he knew. 

Why did he let Angrboda persuade him to risk his life for Loki? He grits his teeth, his head hurting and his voice hoarse from all the past times that he thought about it, until he needed to scream it out. 

Why did he let this happen? 

And now… 

He considers pressing his face to the barrier to break the train of thoughts. The glow, this close to Loki’s eyes, is so bright that it stings. 

A tear runs down his cheek. 

_‘From the moment he realized the truth, he acted bravely, like a true prince should,’_ remarks Angrboda’s stern voice as Loki remembers their last talk when Angrboda told him about Byleistr’s doings on Jotunheim. Loki draws a stuttering breath. 

Brave. 

He needs to be brave. 

He needs to honor Angrboda’s lessons. It was the last petty thing Loki could do to thank him for all those years. 

He presses his eyes shut. 

He needs to grow up. 

Now. 

This is his fault. The least he can do is to help fix it. 

But how? He wishes he could act. But here, in the dungeons, he could only wait until Thor send for him. And then? Thor would ask questions. 

He swallows, clenching his fists. 

It had been Thor’s hand and Thor’s weapon that struck Angrboda down. He will pay for this! There will be no forgiveness for this! NEVER! 

No. 

No. He would not pay. 

He was the king and there was nothing Loki could do to him. 

Loki clenches his fists, but instantly Angrboda’s frown appears in his mind. 

Angrboda was dead, no matter what. Taking revenge would not bring him back to life. 

All those years Angrboda lived here, in the middle of their enemies, without giving any sign of anger or hate. He had witnessed the war, how the Aesir killed Loki’s dam and his mate. And still he lived on Asgard, acting friendly, serving the Aesir without any complaint, protecting and educating Loki. 

Angrboda did it all for Jotunheim! 

And the winter realm was not dead, yet. Loki needs to honor Angrboda’s sacrifice and save those who could still be saved, like Angrboda would have done. He takes a trembling breath. Yes, he needs to focus. 

He needs to forget his anger and pain. He needs to look forward. 

_Bravely,_ like a true prince would. 

Heavy steps approach. So it’s time again. He presses his lips shut and swallows, as his stomach growls. He cringes as another hunger cramp runs through him. Breathing. Easy. In. Out. In again. 

Perhaps he should sit. But it matters not. And the cramps fade quicker when he lies. 

The guards glares at Loki when he approaches and pushes a food tray through the barrier, but he says nothing. Loki swallows hard as his stomach revolts violently. Instantly, the stew’s appetizing smell fills the cell, making his mouth water. 

Desperately he kneads his tummy, hoping to dispel the cramps. But it’s pointless. 

He should know better by now. 

He gives up with a sigh and picks himself up to inspect the meal, willing his stomach to surrender all hope, but failing miserably. The tray contains a spoon and a simple bowl with the maddeningly delicious smell. Judging by its looks, it’s made of roots. 

Trembling, he takes the spoon, dipping it in and stirring cautiously. The spoon hits something hard. Bitter, painful tears fall from his eyes. A small rib with a shred of meat emerges within the stew. Nausea bubbles up, and Loki’s hand that holds the spoon shakes. He drops the spoon like a dirty sock, resisting the urge to kick the bowl. Backing off to the wall, he collapses, panting. 

He screams in desperation. 

Three days already. 

He could eat it, a treacherous voice in his mind remarks. Everyone would. He can stop, as soon as he has a choice again. There is no shame in surviving. The animal, whichever it was, is dead anyway. Eating its flesh wouldn’t hurt it in any ways. 

He throws his head back, until it hits the wall, using the pain to remind him who he is. 

There is always a choice. He would not give in and betray his principles. He just had to stay strong until the guard took the bowl away. If only he could remove the bowl from the cell. At least then he wouldn’t be tormented by the smell. Perhaps tomorrow. Surely, not even savages like Aesir would serve meat every single day?

He closes his eyes and concentrates on breathing through his mouth, wishing the guards would come early to take the leftovers. 

“What the hell do you want?” 

Loki flinches and instantly his stomach clenches, forcing him to cringe and hold his middle until the pain ebbs away. When he finally is able to unbend, Thor stands in front of the cell, featuring the look of bad weather combined with sour milk. 

Overwhelming rage boils up in Loki. 

“To be left in peace,” he sneers. 

At once, the hunger is forgotten. 

Yet, the nausea is not. He stifles a retch. 

How did HE dare to come here, asking dumb questions? Why would he want to grant Loki a wish? And even if so, why would he say it so ill humored? He wasn’t the one forced to starve himself because of barbaric dinning habits. 

As Loki keeps glaring at him, Thor steps through the barrier, picks up the bowl and thrusts it into Loki’s hands. 

“Will you eat, already?” he snaps. 

The three days of hunger have angered Loki’s stomach badly, and a sudden, non-suppressible retch overwhelms him. He barely gets to set the bowl aside without spilling too much before diving into an episode of coughing and gagging. 

When the urge to vomit everything he has ever eaten in his life finally subsides, he wipes the tears from his eye only to find Thor squatting and warily sniffing the stew. New nausea wells up and Loki is quick to concentrate on breathing. 

“What? Doesn’t it fit your delicate taste?” Thor asks with narrow eyes. “Or didn’t your plan consider hunger as a side effect of this futile cry for attention?” 

Loki bursts into laughter. It feels faint and hoarse, but it’s still an honest laughter. Now it’s Thor’s turn to stare, his expression progressively darkening. 

“You think this is about you,” Loki finally gets out, chuckling. “You truly think I would starve myself just for the _honor_ …” he only manages to keep so much sarcasm out of the word, “… of a conversation?” Loki snorts. “Terribly sorry to disappoint.” 

Thor rises with narrow eyes. “So it is your delicate taste? Is such common food beneath you?” 

This time Loki’s laugh is sharp and cold. Angrboda’s calming voice in the back of his head gets drowned out by pure, overwhelming rage. He barely refrains from spitting at the king. “My taste? If you refer to dining on cadavers, like a wild dog does, then yes. It _is_ beneath my taste. I’m no savage, unlike others. I am not eating this!” Loki grants Thor the most gruesome smile he can muster. “Would you like to send for Tyr, so he makes me to?” 

Loki takes a dark satisfaction in the guilt that flashes in Thor’s face for a second, before it gives way to angry confusion. 

Thor snorts. “Cadaver? You mean meat? I witnessed Jotun dine on meat myself. What do you expect to gain by pretending?” 

“I didn’t say Jotun wouldn’t eat meat,” Loki hisses, jumping to his feet. “I said I wouldn’t eat it. If you don’t believe me, feel free to ask Skadi.” He wishes he could simply turn and storm away, preferably through a door he could violently throw shut. Sadly, the cell is much to limiting for that, so he settles for turning his back to Thor. 

Yet, it seems the message is received, as he hears Thor stomping away. After taking a quick glance over his shoulder to check if Thor is truly gone, Loki sights and sits down at the back wall of the cell, taking a long and deep breath. 

He moans. 

Angrboda would frown upon this, if he could see him. Angry tears well up and Loki clenches his fists. Next time he would remain calm, he promises. He just hopes the next time would wait until he had at least one single meal. Or a half. Just something. 

His hopes are wrecked when Thor returns a minute later. 

Loki doesn’t bother to rise and silently glares at Thor as he slides through the barrier, as if it wasn’t there at all. With a flick of his hand, Thor throws something in Loki’s lap. Bread! As Loki realizes what it is, his stomach nearly crawls out of his mouth to get to the fist-sized chunk. It looks so delicious that Loki wants to weep. 

And he would, if it weren’t for Thor towering over him, following every of Loki’s moves. His face is motionless. Rage boils up in Loki. That was what they had come to, now? Hand feeding his petty little prisoner? For a second, he humors the thought of throwing the bread right back into the king’s face. 

But this time, Loki can almost feel the pierce of Angrboda’s disapproving glance. _‘He acted bravely, like a true prince should.’_

Bravely.

Was it brave to calm one’s sentiments and think of the people he swore to protect?

Was it brave to refrain from goading a mighty king for nothing but his own pleasure? Even if it meant to crawl. Well, at least it was what Angrboda had done whenever they told him to work late in the healer’s wing. 

Loki grits his teeth. 

_‘He acted bravely.’_

Carefully avoiding to look at Thor, Loki picks up the bread and takes a bite, staring through the barrier into the distance as he chews. It’s not petrified. But it’s neither fresh. All in all it is chewy, but neither molded nor rotten. 

And it tastes so good. 

His stomach rumbles gratefully. It wasn’t nearly a full meal, but it’s so much more than he got the last days. Desperately, he devours the rest of the bread, barely chewing the bites. When he’s done, he sighs and rests his head back against the wall, eyes closed and waiting for Thor to leave again. 

But no luck in this regard. 

Thor huffs. “So, that’s really it? You will eat, as long as there is no meat in the meal?” 

“Yes,” Loki agrees, eyes still closed. Still, he can feel Thor’s suspicion lingering in the cell. 

“This was no plot to lure me down here, to manipulate me into negotiations for Jotunheim’s sake?” 

“No,” Loki snorts. 

Wandering steps tell of Thor pacing in the cell. Why can’t he just leave? 

Instead, another pair of steps approach and the familiar scratch of a food tray sounds. This is finally enough for Loki to open his eyes, right in time to catch the new tray Thor shoves into his hands. 

Loki swallows hard as his mouth resumes watering, stifling a moan. Bread, fruit, and even some jam are arranged on the tray, each sort placed neatly in an own small bowl. Still, Thor is towering and watching his every move. 

Swallowing one’s pride gets easier the second time, as it turns out, and the sweet taste of grapes lifts Loki on another level of consciousness. Loki digs in, barely chewing the fruit and ripping big parts off the bread. 

He even nearly manages to forget about Thor’s eyes on him. 

And slowly, with each bite he swallows, his rage shrinks until only a sore exhaustion is left behind.

Despite being stuffed, he only feels empty, now. And tired. 

A few times he looks at Thor, only to find him staring back, expression torn. So he resumes staring through the barrier. Most of the other prisoners are staring at them. Eventually Thor makes for the barrier, but then turns around right before it. 

“Why did you do it?” he demands. 

For a second, Loki considers to intentionally misunderstand the question and to say something about the meal. But that would do nothing but delay Thor’s leave. 

“Had they killed you, war would have been inevitable. Believe me or not – I wish our races to live in peace,” Loki points out flatly. 

For a second their eyes lock, then Thor hums and leaves. When finally alone, Loki allows his eyes to fall shut. 

Finally some peace. 

After three days of hunger, being sated alone feels like Valhalla.

* * *

It is evening when Thor finally can leave the throne hall, after tending to endless numbers of petitioners. 

It seems the times of crisis not only spawned needs, but also those who could not or would not trust anyone else besides the king himself to see to their wants, despite the abundance of qualified helpers with lesser duties. 

Without him noticing, the hour has grown late. 

Already the guards responsible for the night watch are manning their posts. Thor stretches, but the hardened muscles barely loosen. 

There is just one thing left he needs to do today. 

Yet, when he reaches the healer’s wing, there are still several Einherjar waiting for the attention of one of the rushing healer’s. There had been a lot of wounded due to the attack. 

“Thor,” someone suddenly calls out, and Thor turns around just in time to spot Freyja stepping out of an examination room. “What are you doing here?” she inquires teasingly. “Did you try to sneak in so late nobody would know you came here?” When she meets Thor’s eyes her own eyes widen. “Wow, you look terrible!” 

Thor can’t help to smile. 

“You mean in general?” he asks with a wink, “or just now?” 

She blushes violently and punches his arm playfully. “You are the most stunning sight to behold! Just much more tired than I have ever seen you.” 

He shrugs. “It’s a time of crisis. Sleep is rare and doesn’t come as easy as always.” 

“Especially if you spend your nights walking the palace.” 

He just gives her a tired glance, and the playful smile drops from her face. 

“Oh, Thor,” she sighs. “Can’t you talk to someone?”

He shrugs again, remembering Odin’s cutting voice when he chastised Thor not to give the people any more reason to doubt him. Especially not after the rumors spread about him being seduced by the enemy’s prince. “There are not many thoroughly informed on what’s going on. Of those who are, most are unfit to confide to.” 

He wishes he could tell her what rested on his soul. She looks at him compassionately. Perhaps she suspects as much. 

“Well,” she proposes, “if you go get what you came for, you can still walk me to my chambers before night falls.” 

His gaze wanders over the waiting men and something in him revolts at the plan. He huffs. 

“I shan’t cut a line off brave men who took injuries for Asgard’s sake. I can return after accompanying you,” he offers. When he looks up again, her expression is severe. 

“Or we can just walk the gardens and return later,” she suggests, so he grants her a thankful smile and offers his arm. 

Gradually his shoulders loose the tension, while they wander in silence through the vast emptiness of the halls. His mind clings to the warm touch of her hand on his arm. 

She doesn’t press on him and lets him lead her without any hesitation or question. 

Eventually, his feet lead them to a passage to the gardens that are now filled with darkness, coldness and desolation. He sighs and lingers beside a brazier right outside the gateway. 

When he finally meets her gaze, her eyes are sad. 

“I was in the dungeons tree days ago. Tyr questioned him,” Thor admits softly. 

A sharp inhale is her only answer, but her grip tenses. 

“I came too late to stop him entirely,” Thor starts, but his voice trails off. Then he curses in sudden anger. “I just don’t understand what he wanted. What did he intend? It just doesn’t make sense!” 

She makes a noise, sounding suspiciously like a snort disguised as a cough. “Did you ask him why he dropped his disguise,” she inquires innocently. 

“Yes, but there was hardly a question to that,” Thor counters impatiently. 

She blinks at him speechless, so Thor grunts in annoyance. 

“I am the king of Asgard. Jotunheim’s military strength is hopelessly inferior to Asgard’s, so if he holds any life of Jotunheim dear, he had to prevent any harm to my person.” 

She stares at him. 

For several moments. 

Then she snaps out of it and shakes her head, turning away. 

“Politics,” she coughs, returning her gaze to him with a stunned expression. “He nearly got trampled to death by one of those giants. I would hardly think about politics in such situation.” 

Now, it’s Thor’s turn to frown. “They attacked him?” 

“Oh, yes. Quite seriously so.” 

“They didn’t know it was him.” 

“No, they obviously didn’t.”

His frowns deepens. That makes even less sense. 

Eventually, he deflates and covers her hand on his arm with his, turning back towards the hallway. She smiles and lets him guide her back towards the healer’s wing. 

“Did you come up with a plan about the portal?”

He moans. “Not really, no. Father attempted to force it shut, but it’s instable and his efforts only resulted in some kind of backslash. It only blasted some rocks off the mountains, but if he uses a bigger force, the backslash might grow, too. Still, father thinks he might be able to shut it from here, as long some seidkonur support him. There is already word sent to Vanaheim, and should it come to it, he will probably count on mother and you as well.” 

Thor takes a deep, shuddering breath. “I am no Seidmadur, but I can’t help it – I have a bad feeling about this.” 

She hums softly. Flickering lights from the braziers dance over the walls and columns around them. 

“So when will you decide?”

“Tomorrow. I thought I might present the council with all alternatives,” Thor shakes his head. “Of course, having to decide between certain death and closing the portal, even if it might be risky, will hardly give any room for discussion.” 

“I wish I could help you and tell more about the portal,” Freyja admits. “But this kind of seidr is not practiced on Vanaheim and neither on Asgard, as well as I know it.” 

Thor sighs. “I know.” He pauses. “Just a week ago it would have been Loki I would have asked about such matters,” he mutters. “But now…” 

“You are afraid the council as well as the people will see you even more under his spell, if you seek for his council,” she states, as a matter of fact as always. He simply nods, lips pressed to a thin line. 

“Why don’t you bring him to the council, then?” 

An incredulous snort escapes him, but she returns his look unwavering. “What?”

“As Jotunheim’s advocate, I mean. This matter concerns his realm as well as ours. Would it be Vanaheim, Alfheim or Nidavellir, the presence of an emissary would be self-evident.”

He takes a breath to answer, but suddenly he imagines how the council would look down on Loki. How Tyr’s fingers would twitch by the sight of his latest victim, and Thor’s voice fails him as rage boils up. 

Feeling his muscles tense, Freyja turns to him with a sharp look. “You think he wouldn’t live up to this trial,” she challenges as they enter the chambers of the healers wing. Most of the lights have been extinguished, so the rooms are bathed in the blue and red flickering of the soul forges. 

“No,” Thor snaps, recoils and proceeds softly. “I can’t ask him to face Tyr, after he … after what he did to him.” 

“You’d offer him an agreement of a sort,” she retorts. “A chance to be heard! Even in chains, it would be Loki’s stand. And he will know that you are on his side, even if you can’t show it in front of the council.”

He flinches as if she had stabbed him. Her eyes dart to his, but he can’t meet her gaze. 

“What?” 

He presses his eyes shut. 

“He might not see me as a support anymore.” 

“You stopped Tyr. He knows you didn’t support him,” she argues, her expression questioning. He moans at the memory. 

“And I nearly lost my temper when I did. We might have to scratch the Tyr’s roasted remains off the council floor afterwards,” Thor groans. 

Freyja grins. “Loki might find this point convincing.” 

“Fine, I’ll ask,” he mumbles, just as Eir emerges out of a chamber. Her eyes are tired, but her glance is as sharp as always. As soon as she spots them, she approaches, greeting Freyja with a polite nod and hinting a quick bow towards Thor. 

“His wounds are healing well. After two more changes of bandages, he can cope without any. All signs should be gone in two weeks, latest,” she declares without any preamble. 

“Good to hear,” Thor confirms after a second, as soon as he understands she’s referring to Loki. “But actually I came for something else.” He feels his face warm in apprehension, and swallows. Better get this over with. At least it’s only three of them in the healer’s wing, now. 

“I need something to help me sleep,” he admits. 

Eir frowns. “Are you in pain, your majesty? If it’s left from the fight, you should have come to me directly!” 

“It’s no such thing,” Thor confesses, preparing himself. “It’s more like… bad thoughts that keep me awake. I tried but I can’t shake them off.” 

Eir’s frown deepens. “You believe someone might have cursed you?” 

Well, why did he even come here? 

“No,” he deflates. “It’s just memories.” He shakes his head slightly. “I should not have bothered you with that. It will probably fade eventually.” 

Eir nods shortly. “It surely will, your highness. I would still like to examine you to be sure there is no injury or spell affecting you.” 

He surrenders after a few half-hearted attempts to escape and lays down on the soul forge. Just as expected, nothing out of order is to be found. When he sits up, she gives him a chiding glance. 

“I propose you try to take a walk through the gardens before the night. Warm milk is said to calm the mind as well,” she declares while shutting down the forge. 

Freyja’s concerned eyes are on him all the way to her chambers. 

“You should let a seidkona come from Alfheim! I hear they research ways to use seidr this way,” she proposes, but he only shakes his head wearily. 

“Just hang on, until the portal is dealt with,” she whispers in his ear, as she hugs him good night. “Everything will improve once the immediate danger is over.” 

He nods tired. “Sure.” 

The memory of deafening screams bites his ears.

* * *

This time, it barely takes an hour of restless turning until he finds himself in the freezing cold of the balcony, his faithful tankard by his side, the fruity flavor of a gifted elven vine protecting Thor from drinking nothing but water. 

Each night grows quieter. 

Thor shivers. 

No clouds form around the hollow sky circle anymore. All water has been drained from the air and fallen as snow that now covers the mountains and treetops.

Two more days until the snow would creep down to the acres and orchards. 

No. 

He would not let it come to that. 

Thor didn’t want to take those last measures, but this was no time to falter. No time to let his pride get the better of him. 

With a huff, he refills his tankard and makes for the Abyss. 

The way down stretches as if to daunt him, and his gathered confidence nearly falters when the homely light of the braziers in the corridors gives way to the stinging gold flare that lights the vault. With a thud, the heavy portal falls shut behind him. 

The steps resound hollow over the hum of the destroyer behind its lattice. Just before the grid, Thor steps to a stone pillar looking just like all the others, and lets his hand wander until he finds a tiny cold spot. He rests his hand on it. It feels like an eternity until a slight tremor runs through the pillar and a stone plate slides away, revealing a small entrance. 

As he descends into the darkness of the Abyss, the walls’ weight settles on him. All those reasons he told himself at many occasions resurface, telling him to postpone this visit. 

But no. There was no time. 

Much like the barriers in the dungeons, the last door is secured to open only for members of the royal family. And even those would not be able to enter without the key. He takes a sip from the tankard and takes a moment to reconsider. Then, he inhales deeply and pushes the key into the lock. 

Without a sound, the door slides open. Thor enters. 

Beyond it lies The Abyss. A chamber, split by a row of bars and a supporting force field. The last remnant of his grandfather’s troubled marriage. Thor puts his tankard down on a plain table and lets himself plump down into an armchair beside it. The dimly lit room on the other side of the barrier is features a dining area, some shelves, and even a desk behind a screen. 

Thor makes sure to look as unbothered as one could ever be, talking to the man-shaped shadow drawn on the dividing screen by the sparse light. Despite the scholarly posture, the shadow does not appear writing. Perhaps just reading. 

“You know - I was thinking about you.” Thor displays his brightest smile. “You must be bored.”

“So I thought about a little puzzle you can occupy your mind with”, Thor quips and takes a thoughtful slow sip of vine. “It goes like this: I have got these two realms – Asgard and Jotunheim – normally each fine for themselves, now connected by an enormous portal. Now the freezing cold creeps over my realm, threatening to destroy our harvest, and to kill our game!” 

Thor gesticulates as if all this would but nothing but a minor inconvenience. 

“Now, the Allfather mentioned said portal would seem a little… what did he call it… _unstable_. He might be able to force it shut with the help of some other seidr-wielders, but you now…”

Thor makes a ‘so-so’ gesture with his hand, making a doubtful sound. 

“What if it blows everything up? What if it rips them to pieces while they try to shut it?” 

He grins charmingly like he did as a child when asking for one more piece of cake. “What would _you_ do?” 

Silence. 

Then a snort. 

“You must be _truly_ desperate to come to me for help.”


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to my beta-reader [Ensignanna ](https://ensignanna.tumblr.com/) for correcting all my typos & grammar sins!! :)

The next visit comes in late morning on the next day. 

Loki looks up when Thor steps through the barrier. He throws the King a weary glance before looking away. 

How ironic! Back, when he still was in the harem, he would have been delighted to meet as often as they do now. Funny, how fast one can grow tired of something. 

He chuckles without feeling any real joy. 

“Something funny?” Thor growls, making Loki look up at him again.

Unlike Loki’s, Thor’s mood does not seem to have improved since yesterday. A frown is pleating his forehead and dark rings appeared around his eyes. The scowling surely did not improve his appearance. 

“No,” Loki states tonelessly. “You have just been here yesterday. What’s the matter now?”

Thor throws him a dark glance. “The council will decide how to deal with the portal in the sky.” 

Unwillingly, Loki rights himself, focusing on Thor. Getting updates on the situation is unexpected and weirdly nice.

“Since this concerns your realm as much as Asgard, I would like to ask if you want to attend on Jotunheim’s behalf,” Thor explains tersely. 

“I thought you didn’t want me to bargain for Jotunheim’s sake,” Loki snorts. 

Thor clenches his teeth and turns half away before he answers. When he does, the growl in his voice is barely contained. “I didn’t want you to manipulate me into a bargain. You didn’t. If you are not interested, the matter will be discussed without you.” 

“Wait,” Loki gasps and jumps to his feet. “I am! Please!” 

Thor’s eyes narrow, scrutinizing him. Then he huffs. “Very well. In this case we need to make haste.” With that he takes Loki’s wrist and pulls him through the barrier, ignoring Loki’s surprised yelp, which lets him pass through without a pinch. 

And soon they are standing in front on the dungeon entrance, the cold wind playing with their hair. Loki looks up to the sky. In spite of the surrounding buildings occluding the view, he surmises the enormous ring of the portal over the mountains, a film of thin fog descending from it. 

Loki shivers from the thought what the warm air would do to the highland glaciers on the other side as Thor pulls him in a one-armed embrace. Loki flinches violently. Suddenly he is pressed against Thor’s warm chest armor, Thor’s arm curled around Loki’s waist and his arms have come to rest against Thor’s chest and on his shoulder. Stunned, Loki swallows, searching for hurtful words to spit them out as a mean to fight the sudden closeness. But his mouth just opens slightly as he stares up to Thor. 

“Hold on,” Thor grunts, as he plucks the hammer from his belt and starts spinning it until its contour blurs. A cold dread manifests in Loki as he finally understands. “Wait!” he yells as he clings to Thor. 

They are pulled off the ground. Loki can barely stifle a scream. 

His frantic panting and the rush of wind around them drains out everything else, until they are whirled around and Loki’s feet finally find the ground. 

Yet still the wind rushes in his ears.

Wait! 

Not wind. 

It’s his blood, being driven by a racing heartbeat, rushes through the veins. 

His head spins. 

His legs shake. 

He clings to Thor so hard, his arms and fingers throb, realizing through a veil how the pressure of Thor’s arm around him ceases and his legs give in. Accompanied by surprised sound, the pressure returns. Hands suddenly appear to hold him, pulling him from Thor and ushering him on a bench. 

He swallows and takes a deep breath, slowly regaining awareness of the surroundings. They are on a patio of the palace. Thor talks to Eir, who nods solemnly. And on the bench besides him sits…

“Skadi,” Loki stammers, at first overwhelmed by relief, but instantly averting his gaze when it gives way to guilt. A clump forms in his throat. She must think he betrayed them, spying on the harem and manipulating all her efforts. Only to come close enough to their king… 

“Loki,” Thor interrupts his thoughts. “Change your appearance.”

Fear clenches Loki’s heart and his eyes snap to his own hands. Pale pinkish hands of an Aesir, now slightly trembling. He clasps them together. 

“Why?”

“You are going to speak to the council on Jotunheim’s behalf, so you should look like it. I will tell you when you can change back, again.” Thor’s voice is exhausted. Without waiting for an answer he turns and vanishes into the palace. Loki clenches his fist, while both women stare after Thor with widened eyes.

When Skadi throws Eir a frown, she shrugs. “Sleep deprivation. A couple of nights of good sleep will get rid of it in no time,” she remarks casually, and turns to Loki. Her brows lifted expectantly. 

For a short moment, Loki considers refusing. But what good would that do? 

Pressing his eyes shut and trying to swallow the bad feeling, he initiates the transformation. The heat rises, and everything grows louder, yet somehow more distant. He makes sure to stare at the floor when he opens his eyes again, but the first glimpse of light stings them nevertheless. 

On the bright side - neither Eir nor Skadi gasp or hiss. Yet, they must be disgusted by him. He grinds his teeth. 

“Does anything hurt?” Eir asks sounding all business. 

“No,” he states, his voice nearly soundless. 

“Good. I am going to rid you of those burns. Please take of the shirt.” When he has shed it, she sits down at his other side, turning him towards her with a soft brush of her hands. He flinches violently. 

“Are you sure that nothing hurts?” she asks, annoyed. Lacking words, he can only deny by shaking his head. 

She scrutinizes him for a moment before shaking her head in return. Then she silently starts to work, her seidr mending the last traces of the vicious burns. Her hands seem even paler against the native dark blue of Loki’s skin. 

Foreign. 

He would never belong here. How could he ever feel like he could? He shivers, thinking about the hateful eyes of the councilmen he would have to meet soon. 

Heat flares through his skin, as another hand touches him, this time on his shoulder. His quickly looks up, ready to snap… But it’s only Skadi. She sighs. 

“Show me your nails,” she demands, just like in his days back in the harem. 

Confused for a moment, he then bursts into laughter. He just can’t help it. It’s ways too ridiculous. Skadi’s lips twitch in a hint of a smile, and her gaze softens. On Loki’s other side, Eir moans with irritation and goes on grumbling something about sitting still. 

“You should look your very best facing the council,” Skadi explains. “As soon as Eir is finished, you can bathe, then we will do your hair.” She moves her fingers through his curls, inspecting the tips with a critical “tsk”. 

All amusement drains from him. 

“You are serious.”

“Deadly,” she declares, defusing the harsh word with a compassionate half-smile. 

He hums in surprise, but offers her his hand. She spots his broken and frayed nails the second he suddenly remembers his fight against the barrier. 

“What the...“ she starts incredulously. Loki grins awkwardly, squirming on the bench. Beside him, Eir moans again. 

“To be fair – it didn’t seem to matter anymore,” he pleads. “How was I supposed to know we would even meet ever again, yet alone discuss beauty care?”

Skadi’s expression freezes. He swallows, wondering if it would be better to apologize or to remain silent. Then Skadi deflates just a little and flashes a crocked smile. She raises, briefly pats his shoulder, walks to a table, and bringing several tools with her when she returns, all without a single word. 

“Hold still,” she commands, and starts filing the broken leftovers of his nails. For a time, both women work in silence, while Loki watches their precise movements. He feels the calm settling within him. At one point Skadi huffs and passes his hand to Eir, pointing to a spot where blood darkened the tissue beneath a nail. 

While Eir starts fixing it with a sigh, Skadi fetches an assortment of small vails, holding one after the other to his hand, comparing colors. 

“Nail paint?” Loki asks, incredulous. 

“Don’t you like it?” 

He frowns, staring down on the vails. Skadi brought exclusively dark colors, such as black, dark grey, dark red, and… a deep, nearly black blue. She obviously followed his glance, having picked up the dark blue vial and holding it beside his hand. It’s quite close to the native color of his nails, but much shinier. It would make his nails look like talons, all fierce and strong. 

Fierce and Strong! These were the feelings he would need to radiate while facing the council. 

Loki huffs. “Fine. Let’s get it over with,” he mutters, looking away. From the corner of his eye, he spots a small smile on Skadi’s lips, but she doesn’t tease him while applying the paint. 

Lamenting about throwing the correct order of thing all over the heap, Skadi makes sure twice the paint is dried before they release Loki into a small bath chamber. Eir’s retort about straight priorities is interrupted by the doors closing with a thud. 

They are still bickering when Loki reemerges from the bathroom, clothed in a simple robe. He can’t help but grin. Skadi’s glare reminds him so much of his time in the harem. Smiling, he wonders what Sigyn was up to, in the moment. But on second thought, she must be lonely, now that he wasn’t there to play pranks on Amora and Glut. 

The realization hits him with a sudden pain. 

She must know by now! Surely the news about him being a Jotun are on everyone’s tongue by now! Not only did he lie to Sigyn and leave her alone in the harem, the others would surely take out their hatred of Loki on her as well! 

He feels nauseous. 

“Loki,” Skadi interrupts, ushering him to a chair, where she starts brushing his hair while drying it with her Seidr. “You need to calm yourself. Even I can see how nervous you are, but the council will prey on every weakness they sense.” 

Swallowing, he nods, banishing his thoughts about Sigyn into a corner of his mind. 

_Act bravely._

“That’s it,” Skadi announces, combing through his hair one last time. “Time to dress. We told the tailor your former measurements. I hope you like it.” 

His eyes widen when he sees what the tailor made for him. 

He admiringly pets black leather and green fabric, sewn together into a tunic with a highlight of a golden plate on the breast. Besides it lies a sleeveless coat of the same materials, and a pair of impressive golden shoulder plates. And a pair of matching vambraces! He lets out a wistful sigh. 

Not entirely a battle armor, but it surely reminds of one. He grins, imagining his looks take effect on the council. 

“He likes it,” Eir chuckles and Skadi shakes her head, smiling. 

Loki snorts and turns to them. “Certainly you don’t expect me to wear this without a fitting helmet, do you? You know – a helmet of gold. With a pair of nice curved horns on top of it. Like … the biggest horns the smith can put on it!”

* * *

Shackles. 

Tyr had to be behind this!

Inwardly Loki fumes, but he does his best to appear calm while the guards fasten the chains on the manacles and on the collar. This is ridiculous. His magic was already bound! What did they expect? That he throws himself at one of the councilmen, slashing him with his claws like a wild beast? He snorts, and the guard gives the chain a warning pull. 

_Calm down,_ he reminds himself and takes a deep breath. He couldn’t let his sentiment gain the upper hand. There was just too much at stakes. He rights himself. They mustn’t force the portal shut at Jotunheim’s expense. But what points could he bring to make them reconsider? 

It feels like an eternity passed, and yet it is still too early when they finally led him into the throne room. All debris from the attack have been cleaned away, as if nothing happened. The hole in the wall is fixed and the columns replaced. Banners bearing Odin’s raven and wolf, or Thor’s hammer hang from the walls. 

In front of the throne, the council is gathered. All members are men, but of different ages. They stand in a loose circle opening towards the throne and towards the entrance, so Loki would have to pass the two rows on his way to stand before the King. 

Loki’s mouth dries as he looks up. Thor sprawls on the throne as if it were a mere armchair, legs spread and one arm on the famous spear Gungir. His other is casually put on the armrest. Loki clenches his fists and forces himself to remain calm while passing the councilmen. Not entirely successful, since he flinches having spotted Tyr eyeing him with a vicious grin. Loki nearly misses a step.

A white-haired old man next to Tyr, with an eye covered by a metal plate watches Loki in a calculating manner. His scrutinizing gaze sends shivers running down Loki’s back. His powerful aura is even harder to bear than Tyr’s. Loki forces himself to look at the throne, grounding himself within the purpose he is here for. After all, this was his duty and his chance to serve his realm. 

And then he finds himself at the point where people are expected to halt and pay their homage to the King. Loki swallows hard, feeling the eyes of the whole council locked on him. Now he was expected to bow to the King. For the first time, he realizes, since the one mock bow when Thor caught him dancing in the harem’s garden didn’t really count. 

After Thor has taken the only family Loki ever had from him. 

Nausea wells up in his stomach. 

He grinds his teeth. 

_Act bravely,_ urges the shadow of Angrboda’s voice in his head. 

Hesitantly, he goes down on his right knee, glaring at the floor and willing his breath to calm. 

“Rise,” Thor’s commands calmly, and the guards lead Loki to a spot opposite to the throne. Thor waits until takes his place, then hits the bottom of the spear on the ground, thus opening the session. 

“We need to rid ourselves of the portal opened by the enemies in our sky lest our harvest is destroyed,” he starts without any preamble. 

“With all due respect, your highness, I don’t understand why this needs any further discussions,” Tyr inquires smoothly. “Three seidrkonur from Vanaheim arrived this morning. Should that not suffice to shut it, Allfather?” 

Loki’s hair rises as he realizes the question is directed to the old man. 

The “Allfather,” Odin the bane himself. 

Loki’s blood freezes in his veins. The man responsible for his parents’ death, for deaths of countless other Jotun. The one who then defiled their grave in search for Loki’s remains. 

Standing there, right next to Tyr. 

Of course he would attend the council meetings. He was the Old King, after all. It was all but natural for Thor to rely on his council. Blood rushes in his ears and nausea rises within him again. How was he supposed to make his stand in this room full of monsters? 

“In terms of power it should, yes,” Odin answers levelly. “Yet, we don’t know how the attackers accomplished opening a portal of this size that remains stable for days now. And therefore, we need to proceed with care. Perhaps you can tell us how this was achieved, Prince Loki?” 

All heads instantly turn to Loki. 

His thoughts rush desperately. Yet considering all in all, the situation was actually good! With Allfather himself urging the council to thread with care, Loki’s stand on the matter dramatically improved. So what was the best he could say now? Building up on top of that backing Allfather’s concerns, he decides. 

“The portal might be supported by a branch of Yggdrasil that is tied to an anchor stone on Jotunheim,” Loki explains, looking straight at Thor. 

Yet, it’s not Thor but Odin who answers. “Interesting,” he ponders. “The branches are strong, but not unbreakable. Our force should be able to do that,” he adds with a glance to the slyly smiling Tyr. 

Loki gasps. Didn’t Allfather understand what consequences breaking of Yggdrassil’s branches might have?

“If the branch is supporting the portal, won’t it reflect any force?” Thor asks and gratitude washes over Loki. 

“Yes, of course,” Odin agreed. “But knowing it we will make sure to break the branch just as we close the portal.” 

Horror rises in Loki. “But then the force will simply unload on the other end,” he cries out, forgetting himself for a moment. Unveiled anger in the most councilmens’ eyes hits him like a wave. Tyr is having a hard time suppressing his glee. 

“Splendid,” Tyr breathes. “That will make them think twice before they attack again.” 

A chuckle sounds from somewhere left of Loki. He’s so frustrated he wants to howl. How could they jest about a matter as serious as this?

Again it’s Thor’s calm voice that interrupts Loki’s thoughts. “We don’t know the exact wiredrawers behind the attack. Chances are it was not ordered by Helblindi,” Thor points out. 

“What difference does that make? It were frost giants this way, or the other,” a councilman unknown to Loki hisses. Loki’s hands starts to tremble. It must not go like this! But what could he do? Tyr prepares to speak and Loki panics. 

“No, please! That could destroy Jotunheim! It’s still one of the nine realms you are sworn to protect, isn’t it?” Loki pleads desperately. Odin’s and Thor’s expressions darken, but Tyr laughs. 

“Don’t exaggerate. Jotunheim is huge. Even if the blow would be hard enough to flatten one or two mountains, and to wipe the one or the other Jotun village, it would hardly matter to your realm as a whole,” Tyr sneers, looking down on Loki. 

“As Jotunheim’s cold floats to Asgard, our warmth ascends there. Should it have weakened the ice shield surrounding the realm, a blow applied at the exact same spot might cause a flood of enormous scale,” Thor points out before Loki manages to think of a retort. It made him one more time feel grateful for the support. However, the last remark makes Odin look at Thor thoughtfully. 

Suddenly Loki’s thoughts halt. That one enormous flood Thor just described was the result of Jökullhlaup! A rare event on Jotunheim only scholars such as Angrboda, who taught Loki, were aware of it. So how could Thor have learned about it? 

A snort from another councilman interrupts his thoughts. “Even that would hardly kill such monsters as Jotuns. They are sturdy. And everyone knows they swim just as well as fish.” 

“Sturdy or not, we can still be crushed by ice and stones! And such a catastrophe would surely destroy our harvests! Many would starve!” Loki retorts dreadfully, gaining admonishing looks from several councilmen. This couldn’t be! 

They must not do that! 

Horrified, Loki searches for more points to make as Tyr clears his throat. 

“What amusing tales! Even though I would certainly prefer to listen to them all day long, we should act lest he tricks us into losing _our own_ harvest to the cold,” Tyr proposes in mock innocence. 

“NO!” Loki screams. He wants to say more, make them _understand_ , but then a mighty thud of Gungir sounds and all fall silent. Tears well up in Loki’s eyes as Thor rises. “Then let us vote,” he declares, gesturing Loki’s guards to lead him away. 

The bitter taste of failure rises in Loki’s throat as a pull on the chains draws him away and the heavy doors fall shut behind him. He doesn’t even pay attention to where the guards bring him until he finds himself in a small chamber. They take off the chains; a guard tells him to wait. 

He nods.

Everything feels numb. 

All noises and sounds around him fade. 

The chamber were little more than a stowage, if not for the tiny balcony facing the mountainside. 

Loki finds himself there staring above the peaks, at the gaping wound of a portal in the light blue sky. Sometimes the dark of Jotunheim’s sky peeks through the shredded clouds. He notices the trembling wisps of the breath condensing in front of his mouth. 

A soft clicking behind him announces the opening and shutting of the chamber door. Loki turns around. 

It’s Thor. 

Of course. 

Within a moment, his numbness turns to rage. 

“Are you satisfied?” Loki hisses before Thor can even open his mouth. “You knew they would never listen to me. Did it please you to see me fail?” 

Thor’s half opened mouth snaps shut and his face drops, giving Loki some cold satisfaction. Time to grant Thor his fair share of pain. 

A feral grin blossoms on Loki’s face. How much would it take to make Thor snap, he wondered? 

“Ah, so you _did_ expect them at least to listen to me? That says more about your wits than any gossip could ever do. I should have known that you are not more than a mere straw man to your so called council,” Loki spits.

Thor’s eyes narrow, yet he only takes a deep breath, releasing his tension with the exhale. Before Loki can deliver the next punch, he fully regains the composure. 

“The council is full of hateful old men,” he concedes, “unable to overcome their long expired believes. I am truly sorry for how they treated you.” 

NO, no, no. 

Loki would NOT be mollified by empty words. 

The venom rises in his throat, nearly choking him. He searches for the worst things he could spit into Thor’s face while his eyes fill with tears. Thor is, however, suddenly standing right before him, and he takes Loki’s hands in his. They eyes meet, and Loki suddenly recognized unyielding determination burning within Thor’s gaze. 

“They are nothing but old fools, caught in their petty quarries! Yet they do not speak for me! There is still a chance to help your people I am more than willing to attempt, but there is only little time left… and I cannot do it without your help,” Thor urges. 

Hope. 

Such a horrible weakness. 

Loki feels his heart clench in despair. It must be a trap. It has to be. And he would just suffer more, shall he fell for it, _again_. 

He shouldn’t. 

He mustn’t!

He will not, never again!

“What do you want me do?”

“Is there a way you could hide us from views? Everyone’s views,” Thor asks, pointing his head towards the Bifrost. Why, what secrets did he want hidden from Heimdall? It is, however, not the right time to inquire. Loki nods sharply, fortifying his defiance. Quicker than he can take a second look, his wrists are freed from the bracelets. They swiftly disappear in Thor’s pockets, all while he is ushering Loki on the balcony. 

“Do it,” Thor commands, pulling Loki in the same one-armed embrace as before when he brought him to the healer’s wing, and Loki’s stomach drops in anticipation. At least this time he knew what was coming. And for Jotunheim’s sake this was a small sacrifice. 

Still, all the hair on him stands on end. 

He is barely able to finish his cloaking spell before Thor’s swirling with the hammer launches them into the sky. 

The air around them rushes and becomes freezing cold within seconds. His arms curled around Thor’s neck, Loki’s breath halts. Quickly the gold and green of Asgard vanishes beneath them as they fly right through the portal, diving straight into the Jotunheim’s dark. 

Loki nearly falls when their feet land on the icy rocks on the other side of the portal. His eyes obviously adapt quicker to the darkness than Thor’s, for he is the first to spot the outline of a motionless body lying on the ground. All while Thor keeps blinking and rubbing his eyes trying to get used to the dim lighting in the surrounded fog. Even if Angrboda hadn’t told Loki about the attack, the black armor and pointed ears would quickly give away the race of the dead. 

Loki sucks in a hissing breath, pointing to the body, but Thor only shakes his head. “Dark elves, I know. We found the body of one who fell through the portal.”

“You knew... ” Loki starts, but Thor already strides away from the portal, searching the fog with his eyes. 

“We need to go to Utgard where I,” Thor emphasizes the word,” will speak to King Helblindi. You stay silent until I tell you otherwise,” he orders and Loki follows him hastily. “It should be in this direction.” 

Loki frowns, staring at their surroundings. “You recognize the area?” There is nothing but fog, ice and stone. Even for Jotunheim, it was sparse of markings that would allow a certain identification. 

It takes agreeable little time to leave the fog behind and to reach an area Loki recognizes from Angrboda’s tales. The highlands stretch before them, vast and empty. “There,” Thor observes, and points a finger towards a shadow in the distance. 

Loki squints. With an effort, he can make out the outlines of the slope towards the lower plains where Utgard lies. 

“Now change to your other appearance,” Thor commands. 

Loki stares at him in disbelief. 

On Asgard, he was supposed to show his Jotun skin, but must mime an Aesir here? He opens his mouth, but there is no malice in Thor’s eyes, so he reconsiders and obeys, grumbling softly. The ghost of a smile flashes over Thor’s lips as he observes gold dispersing the blue of Loki’s skin. When the change reaches Loki’s wrists, Thor absentmindedly rubs a finger against Loki’s hands, observing the change migrating beneath his touch. 

Jotunheim becomes shrouded in darkness. 

“Hold on,” Thor mumbles, wrapping an arm around Loki. Loki clings to Thor as quickly as possible, but still his stomach jumps when they take off. 

It doesn’t get better with practice. 

He only learned what to fear. 

A moan escapes him. Having noticed, he snaps his mouth shut, feeling an angry blush creep up his neck. 

And of course it’s the exact moment Thor lands them on the ground. Loki swallows a curse and clings on to him until the world stops spinning. 

“Everything ok?” Thor inquires with a suspiciously amused voice. Loki glares at him, too embarrassed to answer, and turns him his back. 

He finds himself face to belly with a frost giant. 

His jaw sinks slightly as his gaze wanders up until he meets the startled glance of the crimson eyes several feet above his head. 

Loki swallows. 

The memory of the attack on the throne room suddenly comes back, the moment when he nearly got stomped to death a pressing thought. 

Slowly, Loki backs off. 

Unwanted relief floats through him when a warm hand drops to his shoulder, and Thor pulls Loki against himself, facing the giant with an unyielding stare. 

Loki takes a quick look around. They are within a great hall that has seen some better days. With one wall being broken, ice and snow crept in and covered the scattered stones. Whatever burst the hall open surely didn’t occur within the last few weeks. 

Dozens of giants are gathered all around Loki and Thor, all staring at them with widened eyes, while some of them start to back off, slipping away through numerous doorways and gaps. Whispering swells around them as more and more giants recover from the shock of the two invaders dropping amidst them right from the sky. 

Loki senses Thor grip on his hammer fasten. 

“King Thor,” a low voice says, ripping through the building tension. “We are honored to greet you in our humble halls. I wish I could have been the first to bid you welcome, but it seems the visit wasn’t announced properly.” 

The giant must have stepped out of a small door in the back of the hall. He quickly approaches while speaking, yet a threat lies neither in his voice nor in his motions. For a second Loki feels the speaker’s gaze on him, and his stomach twitches slightly. 

A whisper of a different kind emerges as the giants around them relax. As if being commanded, they turn to leave. Soon Thor and Loki are alone save for the speaker and four other Jotuns cornering the hall in the stiff manner of appointed guards. 

The giant who greeted them reaches a formation of ice, distantly resembling an armchair, and takes a sit. It only then dawns on Loki who they are talking to. 

Helblindi! It must be him! 

Loki’s heart makes a little jump. 

He would finally meet his brother!

Oh, how much he wants to run to him, embrace him and hide behind him, forgetting the vile and vain Asgard and every bad that has ever happened to him. 

Thor’s hold on his shoulder tenses in a warning. 

“King Helblindi,” Thor greets. “We thank you and I apologize. There was no announcement, but we need to discuss matters urgently …” Thor makes a meaningful pause, taking a look around, “and privately.” 

The length of ensuing silence is translates into physically perceivable pain. It suddenly ends with Helblindi’s huff. “Very well,” he agrees. “Leave the hammer and we shall talk.” 

To Loki’s surprise, Thor doesn’t even try to argue. Paying little attention to the one guard hastily approaching to receive his weapon, he absentmindedly drops Mjolnir on the spot and follows Helblindi to the small chamber besides the throne, while also indicating Loki to follow. 

“What matter do you come to discuss?” Helblindi inquires, barring the doorway behind them with a large wheel of stone. 

“There was an attack on Asgard, conducted by Jotun.” Thor rights himself and releases Loki from his grip.

Loki presses his eyes shut, stifling a hiss. Thor said he wanted to help Jotunheim! What kind of help was this supposed to be?

Helblindi cocks his head, and for a second his jaw tenses. “Yes, your highness,” he admits. “It pains me having been too late to stop most of the attackers. Yet, my troops caught retreating rebels after your great victory. Be assured, their punishment will be severe.” 

Thor hums. “Of course, the council will demand a proof of said punishment.” 

Helblindi’s eyes narrow, but he nods. “Of course.”

Loki clenches his fists. For a second Helblindi’s eyes fly to him. 

“The council will demand reparation, too.” 

On this, Helblindi draws himself to full height. “Your majesty, there is barely enough …” he starts, barely contained anger in his voice, but Thor lifts a hand. 

“Would you agree to deliver the reparations in treasures… such as pearls?” 

Loki is barely able to stifle a hiss. First the food and now even pearls?! How dare Thor! He promised to help, not to plunder. And while they argue, the Allfather would gather his sorcerers to shut the portal. 

A soft hum from Helblindi rips Loki from his thoughts. For whatever reason, Helblindi’s anger vanished like it were never there. “Agreed,” he rumbles, nodding contently.

Loki can only blink and stare. 

Thor takes a deep breath, his glance flying to Loki for a second. Helblindi eyes follow his and he frowns slightly.

“Then just one more thing,” Thor says after a moment. “Who lead those rebels? Did they have any support from the nobles?” 

Helblindi shakes his head slowly. “They were led by an old fanatic named Leikn. We did not find him along the returnees, but if we do we will deliver him into your hands.” 

“So they had no support from any nobles?” 

“None, I would be aware of,” Helblindi states and Loki swallows. 

For a second, Thor searches Helblindi’s face. Then he deflates, letting a breath escape. “Good,” he says. 

After Thor doesn’t go on for several moments, Helblindi cocks his head at him. “I thank you, your majesty. But I must wonder – all those centuries Asgard claimed tributes after tributes. And now you offer us to judge your enemies on our own and moreover claim of all things _pearls_ as a tribute. Why…?” 

But Thor interrupts him. “In all those years you have always acted reasonable, Helblindi. I do not wish you or your people ill. Therefore you should know there was a portal opened for the attack. My father will shut it from Asgard in less than three hours, breaking Yggrasil’s branch that holds it open in the process.” 

Helblindi’s eyes widen and his jaw tenses. 

“The force of the branch will then discharge towards Jotunheim,” Thor explains, before Helblindi finds any words. “You might want to avert the most severe damage by forcing it shut at the same time from your side.” 

Helblindi’s head snaps back as if Thor had slapped him. “Again, what brings you to show such…” he starts with a deep frown on his face. 

Than his expression drops. 

Thor must have seen it as well. He takes a deep breath. For a second, both stare at each other. Than Helblindi whirls around and turns his back on Thor. When he speaks, his voice is a nearly inaudible growl. 

“So you discovered my brother.”

Thor stiffens. Neither of the two move. 

“Yes,” Thor finally admits. 

Helblindi hums, still facing away. “You must be quite fond of him, if it evokes such generosity towards our realm,” he ponders, voice dangerously neutral. 

Thor remains silent, yet his eyes flicker over Loki for a heartbeat, his expression guarded. Finally, Helblindi turns, his crimson eyes boring into Thor’s. “Do you deny it, Thunderer?” Helblindi asks sharply. 

Thor presses his lips to a line and Loki wants to groan. 

He wants to shake both of them. 

This was not the time to discuss any kind of fondness!

“No,” Thor concedes, eyes narrowed. Now that Helblindi faces them again he doesn’t look at Loki once. “He served me well once and I wish to reward that.” 

Loki cringes. 

If Helblindi didn’t want to kill Thor until now, this wording would guaranty he would now. After all Helblindi must have heard about Loki’s residence in the harem. Why couldn’t he say _‘explained me some magic when none else was around to do so’?_ But no, he just _had_ to word it like a fling. Loki feels another blush creeping up his neck. 

“Of course the noblest reward of all would be to return him home, where he belongs,” Helblindi challenges. 

Loki’s heart skips a beat. Staying here, far away from all the mess and guilt he left behind on Asgard. His heart yearns for staying. That was too good to be true. The taste of bitter disappointment wells up. Thor could not release him. The council was watching him. 

“No,” Thor retorts sharply. 

“The prince belongs to his people,” Helblindi hisses. 

Fear grips Loki’s heart as the voices rise. They would break the shaky alliance they just formed because of _him?_ No! But what could he do? 

“He will stay on Asgard,” Thor barks. 

“So you can have your way with him,” Helblindi sneers. “Jotunheim has collaborated for a long time, delivering more food and riches we could spare, but we will not surrender our prince to you!”

“You wouldn’t risk war,” Thor challenges, glaring at Helblindi, who rises to his full size, anger glowing from his eyes. 

“NO,” Loki yells, making Helblindi and Thor turn towards him. Loki nearly freezes under Thor’s glare. But no! He can’t let them fight over him while every minute brings Odin closer to shutting the portal. 

Apologizing to Thor with a pleading glance, he shifts. Helblindi’s eyes widen and there might have been the slightest hint of a wail. 

Then Loki is caught in a crushing embrace. 

Loki wraps his arms around Helblindi’s neck as he lifts him, folding his arms around Loki, wishing they could just remain like this. He feels a tear run down his cheek. After several moments, Helblindi sets him softly down, petting over Loki’s hair. 

Loki braces himself for the painful part. 

“Thor is right, brother,” Loki confesses softly, and Helblindi flinches. “We need peace! But Asgard is so full of prejudice against our people. I need to remain there, to teach them we are people and not monsters.” Each word stings himself as much as Helblindi. 

His brother recoils, shaking his head in dismay. “But you are a prisoner! I’ve heard everything, brother.” 

Of course he knew. 

Angrboda must have told him. 

Tears well up in Loki’s eyes, but he shakes his head. 

“I am not!” Loki affirms and lies a hand in one of Helblindi’s, presenting Skadi’s latest work on his nails, willing his eyes to remain dry. “Do these look like the hands of a prisoner?” 

Helblindi’s expression sours slightly. “I heard about your fantasies as well,” he scolds, and Thor’s expression goes from a glare to curiosity. The heat in Loki’s cheeks multiplies, embarrassment adding to the painful memories. 

“Then why do you look so pained,” Helblindi’s asks warily. 

Loki presses his eyes shut. Fuck. He didn’t want to. A tear runs down his cheek. 

“Angrboda was caught in the aftermath of the battle. He…” Loki swallows to banish the painful clump in his throat, but it doesn’t help. “He is …” Loki starts again, but his voice fails him. 

Above him, Helblindi’s face turns grey. 

The ground trembles as Helblindi drops to his knees, pulling Loki in another firm embrace. It rips down the wall Loki had built around his pain, so he sobs like a child, his face pressed to Helblindi’s firm shoulder. Beside his ear, Helblindi’s breathe trembles, too. Finally he retreats some inches, searching for Loki’s gaze. 

“He went back to Asgard to prevent the war,” Helblindi reveals. “With your coming, his goal was reached, so he must smile upon us. The spirits will celebrate having a legend like him among them.” A ghost of a smile brightens Helblindi’s face. “Perhaps with him they will finally find their way back to Jotunheim without the help of the casket.” 

Loki wipes his face with his forearm, nodding. 

“If your decision is final I will respect it,” Helblindi states but a warning sounds in his voice. “But should word come about any harm done to you, I will not rest until you walk free and Asgard is reduced to mere heaps of rumble and stone!” He declares, his eyes boring into Thor’s. “And you will send me letters, at least once a month,” he adds, looking at Loki. 

Swallowing, Loki nods. 

“You promise to deliver those letters without them opened or altered in any ways, Thunderer?” 

“None will open or alter those letters and I will deliver them to you, or to another family member as fast as possible,” Thor grumbles grudgingly. “And now make haste. The portal will be closed at sundown on Asgard. You have less than two hours, and we need to leave.”

* * *

Thor makes haste back to the portal, not stopping even once until he hurls himself and Loki through the opening back into Asgard’s glaring light. He drops them on the small balcony they left a little over an hour ago. 

Helblindi was warned. Loki should probably feel relieved. He swallows, fighting to regain his posture. 

He yearns for the silence and solitude of the dungeons. 

Thor shifts his weight from one foot to the other, his eyes flickering to Loki for an instant. Loki groans as the memory of Angrboda’s voice reminds him of his manners. Bracing himself, Loki turns to Thor, forcing a polite smile on his face. 

“Thank you for informing Helblindi,” Loki forces himself to say. “I wish to apologize for my former words.” He turns towards the door to let the guards take him away. 

“Wait!” 

Thor’s hand appears on his shoulder, turning him gently back. Loki takes a deep breath. His breakdown in Helblindi’s arms has left him exhausted. 

Thor searches his face for longer than expected, his face uncertain. “Why did you lie to your brother?” 

“Isn’t that obvious?” Loki retorts wearily. After no sign of understanding appears in Thor’s eyes, he sighs. “You couldn’t leave me there, so I had to give Helblindi a reason and my consent so he could accept it. It was simply the fastest way to end this pointless clash.” 

Thor flinches, than shakes his head. “No. I mean – yes. But I meant the other thing.” 

Loki stares at him, frowning. 

“You must know, don’t you?” Thor asks, his eyes widened in concern. “When Angrboda attacked me in the dungeons ...”

Oh what a fool Loki was to think it couldn’t hurt worse. He rips his shoulder from Thor’s grip. “DON’T YOU DARE TO TALK ABOUT HIM!” Loki roars, fresh tears spraying from his eyes. His magic pours out of his hands, appearing as green mist, as his rage peaks. 

Mist. 

Magic!

Roaring in fury, Loki throws his seidr at Thor, manifesting it as razor sharp ice dagger. In this moment Loki learns two things about real fights. The first is that from such a close distance there is no way to dodge or block a summoned dagger. The second is that ceremonial armor reaches not even remotely the strength of real armor. 

Thor’s jaw drops, as his eyes follow the blade piercing his armor beneath the shoulder, burying itself deeply in his flesh. 

Then he learns a third thing: Being pierced by an ice blade does not keep Thor from fighting. Loki hasn’t even had time to gasp as Thor leaps at him hurling them both to the wall. Loki hisses as the impact pushes the air from his lungs, but his ire boils only hotter. 

His time only lasts to summon a tiny ice knife, before Thor’s hand grips his wrist like steel clenches, forcing him to drop it. Growling, Loki catches it with his other hand mid-fall and buries it in Thor’s hip, drawing a pained grunt out of him, before his second hand is locked in a similar grip. 

With a click, a suffocating feeling wraps around his magic. Retching from the sudden pressure on his seidr, he searches for the source and finds the familiar golden band of the bracelet curls around his right wrist. He howls in desperation. Since his hands are caught in Thor’s grip, he trashes his forehead against Thor’s face. 

He hits and Thor curses vilely, throwing Loki to the floor and pinning him down with his weight. With a click, the second bracelet snaps shut. Suddenly Thor’s weight on him is gone, so Loki jumps to his feet, panting. 

This wasn’t over yet! 

“… I didn’t kill him!” Thor yelps, backing away and limping slightly. “He is not dead! You must know that! He was just unconscious!” 

Loki’s heart misses a step. Horrible, desperate hope wells up within him.

“Unconscious?” Loki breathes desperately. 

“Yes,” Thor asserts, pressing a hand to the wound in his torso, where blood drips from the first dagger, still sticking in his shoulder. “Jotun skulls are much too sturdy to crash with only one weak blow. You… You must have known that! You… you can’t have thought that I…” 

“Bring me to him!” Loki interrupts desperately. 

“I can’t!” Thor hisses. “He’s hidden. As soon the council hears that I spared him, they will demand his head!” 

“BRING ME TO HIM!” Loki yells, tears running over his cheeks. 

“I CAN’T!” Thor roars back. 

“You lie!” Loki hisses, clenching his teeth. Of course it was a lie. His mouth tastes bitter. “If he were alive you could prove it.” He glares at Thor. 

“I will prove it,” Thor protests, clenching his fists. “I _will_ prove it. I will find some way, I promise.”

Loki snorts, staring coldly. “Fine. I’ll wait in the dungeons then,” he sneers, turning to the door. 

A soft “No” behind him makes Loki stop. He groans in annoyance. “What?” Loki snaps. 

Thor was silent for a moment, and then he lets out a small smile.“I thought about your words to Helblindi. I think you are right,” he muses. “I think it’s time for you to go back to the harem.”

* * *

**The day before, in the abyss beneath the vault …**

“You must be _truly_ desperate to come to me for help,” rumbles the other as he rises from his seat at the desk and steps in front of the barrier. A slight shiver creeps over Thor neck. He will never get used to the piercing look of those glowing red eyes. 

“Humor me, your majesty,” the giant muses, smiling slightly. “Why should I want to help _you_ , of all people?” 

Unlike Thor, he doesn’t sit down, but towers over Thor, and would have shadowed him if it weren’t for the light of the force field. Thor fights the urge to rise. It would not change much, anyway. Even standing he would only reach up to his waist. So he forces himself to remain seated. He was the one in power here, anyway. 

Thor neither needs to be taller than him, he tells himself.

“For the sake of your realm?” Thor proposes, but the giant only lifts a brow at that. 

“You could use any information I give you against my realm. I would have no way to find out from here.” 

Thor nearly moans. So this was the point. The bastard wanted to bargain. 

“Fine. What do you want?” Thor asks and takes a sip from the tankard. 

“Release my nephew,” comes the prompt answer. 

“No,” Thor snaps. 

As Angrboda turns his back to him and makes for the desk, he curses. “Ah, come on! You know I can’t do that. The second I release him, my crown is gone and you have to deal with my father again.” 

Angrboda halts, but doesn’t turn around. 

Thor takes it as a good sign. 

“I know he told you about me.” Silently, he prays Loki did so. “You know I would never willingly hurt him. I can protect him until everything is over and the people start to forget. And then, when the time comes, he might be able to go back. But right now it would only infuriate those who already believe me being under his spell. It can’t be done.” 

“Then explain me his wounds! I saw the bandages!” Angrboda’s low voice rumbles with anger. He is still facing away, so Thor takes his time to swallow. 

“Tyr,” he finally spits out, shame and rage fighting within him for the upper hand in reddening his cheeks. “Finding the lost prince… And laying his hands on him… It has been his obsession for the better half of his life.” Thor takes a deep breath. “He tricked me. He came to me in a moment when I was unfit to listen and took my silence as a permission.” Thor clenches his fists, realizing what a sorry excuse his words sound like. 

Slowly Angrboda turns to him, his eyes narrowed to thin lines. “So you say Tyr was able to hurt Loki, my _prince,_ because you were too dense to pay attention to the words of a man who you knew was obsessed with hurting him?!” 

The words sting painfully. 

Something in Thor wants to roar and crash through the barrier to make Angrboda pay for this at once. But at the same time, he knows it’s not unjustified. What could he say to make this up to Angrboda so he would help him? 

Thor only realizes that his gaze had flicked from the other’s face towards the floor while thinking when Angrboda snorts. 

“I see,” he concludes. “At least you don’t deny it. And it sounds awfully like I measured you up.”  
Angrboda hints a mocking bow. “So, you would like to close the portal? You should certainly do so and that as soon as possible.”

“Then help me,” Thor demands, but Angrboda only shakes his head, smiling coldly. 

“We share a common goal, I admit as much, since Jotunheim is not only in danger of losing the harvest but also thousands of deaths by defrosted water from the highland glaciers. But to get my help, I demand something in return.” 

“I can guarantee Loki’s safety.” 

“You just claimed you would do so because YOU want to,” Angrboda adds for consideration. Thor grits his teeth. 

“I can’t release Loki,” Thor snarls, and Angrboda’s eyes narrow and he swirls around, turning his back on Thor. He starts pacing. After a few cycles, he suddenly stops. 

“No further repressions against Jotunheim,” Angrboda challenges. 

Thor has already opened his mouth for a sharp protest as he falters. “I can’t promise that without knowing how much of this is Jotunheim’s fault,” he argues. 

Angrboda stares at him for a while. Thor struggles not to fidget. Finally Angrboda deflates and spills the truth about the rebels and how they build the portal. As Thor listens to the words presented in this low, rumbling voice, rage bubbles in him. His hands twitch, but as much as he yearns to pace like Angrboda did before, he despises to show such similarity. 

“So, it IS Malekith,” he growls when Angrboda finishes. He bangs a fist against the stone wall before returning his eyes to Angrboda’s, jaw clenched. “This Leikn made a huge mistake.” 

“I agree,” Angrboda muses. “And Jotunheim owes you for his disposal. Yet, his charm as a warmonger is legendary and of those young fools he allured many paid a grave price already. They do not deserve more punishment.” 

Thor huffs and his anger slightly decreases. “He must have been mighty to organize such a rebellion against your king without the help of any noblemen.” 

Angrboda hums. “He is a war hero, and the people despise the nobles since they force them to pay your fines. Support from the aristocracy would merely have undermined his position.” 

Thor growls and presses the bridge of his nose. “I see the wisdom in your words and I wish I could offer Jotunheim freedom of sentence, but the council will eat me alive even for the proposal of doing so.” He shakes his head. “I can’t give you that.” 

Angrboda hums thoughtful. “Asgard desires treasures, doesn’t it? What would your council say if you collected the fines in pearls?” 

Thor frowns. “What would that change?” 

Angrboda’s bares his teeth in a predatory smile. “Food is scarce, but pearls cannot be eaten. To the clam-herders, those are but litter.” 

The relief washes over Thor like a pain-killing spell. He nods, smiling, and lets himself collapse into the armchair. “Very well! Should you help me find a solution for closing the portal, I promise to reduce the reparations to a minimum which will be to be paid in pearls. But,” he lifts a finger, “only as long as your information is confirmed as true.” 

Angrboda looks at him warily, but nods after a while. “Very well,” he acknowledges. “I can confirm that forcing the portal shut will hardly be possible, since it is supported by a branch of Yggdrasil itself. The branch would reflect all energy, like a bow you tense and release.” 

Thor presses his lips to a thin line. “So what would you advise?”

Angrboda lets his breath escape with a hiss, deflating a bit. “There is no fool proof way I can tell you,” he explains, rolling his eyes slightly. He pauses, pondering. “To my knowledge you might… just _might_ be successful if you force the portal shut from both sides at the same time. King Helblindi should be willing to support your efforts, if you tell him about Leikn’s treason and offer reduced penalty as long as he helps providing casters to loosen the anchor stone and force the portal shut from there, while you do the same from here.” 

“The council will never accept this solution. They are up for revenge,” Thor retorts. 

Angrboda groans. “But you have to tell them because…” he snorts, widening his eyes in mock wonder. 

Thor jumps to his feet, blood boiling again. “I just told you that the council can take the crown from me, and the Bifrost is watched by many people. The small portal was destroyed by an attempt to shut the big one. How do you suppose I get to Helblindi without them knowing? One does not simply _walk_ into Jotunheim,” he bellows. 

“Then _fly,_ you fool,” Angrboda drawls with a finger pointing upwards, nose wrinkled in disbelieve. 

It takes a second for Thor to understand he’s pointing towards the big portal itself. A wave of angry nausea washes over him for not realizing it sooner. His fingers twitch. Right now, he regrets how little satisfaction he allowed himself after logging the bastard in the dungeons. Grinding his teeth, Thor whirls around and storms off, ignoring the faint chuckling sounding after him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sooo, many of you saw this comming, I know. But still I would like to state two things, just to be clear: 
> 
> First: I am using a third person narrator, so the thoughts stated in the text reflect the opinions of the respecting person, which are mostly Loki or Thor. They do NOT represent the ultimate truth. So if I write „Angrboda was dead,“ it means the person believes it and not that it necessarily is like that. ;) 
> 
> Second: I did the complete outline for this story before I posted the first chapter and I intend to stick to it. So this was planned all along. I am ~~kinda~~ sorry for torturing you all ~~(muhahah)~~ over the last two chapters, but Angrboda’s „death“ and Loki’s feelings regarding this are a major plot point.  
>  Yet, I do actually put hints into the story for you to see what is actually happening behind the scenes. For example the whole Mjolnir-to-the-head-doesn’t-equal-death thing was described in detail in chapter 6 since my deeply beloved Jotun-hulk takes several blows until he goes down.  
> Well. It was probably less hard on me since I knew what I planned and therefore tried to take your complaints about Thor killing Angrboda as compliments. Yes, it would have been out of character, I agree! But in my opinion Thor was the bright one in this scene. And even though Angrboda did try not to kill Thor, he would not have relented until he had Loki gotten out of the dungeon. He would not have discussed and if he would have had a possibility to take out Thor without killing him, he would have done so. :) 
> 
> Third: I am very grateful for all your comments! I did not know how to respond to some of them since you were obviously suspecting what I was doing and I didn’t want to slip spoilers. Now that this particular part of the plot is revealed I would deeply appreciate to know how you feel after reading this chapter! :)


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Before you start reading: 
> 
> Knowledge of the seed distribution of the plant “Gnomes hatstand” is essential for understanding a part of this chapter. Therefore, I would suggest to invest 20 seconds in watching this short [Wikipedia video](https://de.wikipedia.org/wiki/Datei:Impatiens_glandulifera.ogv) for demonstration. 
> 
> So, with that said I would like to thank my dear beta reader [Ensignanna](https://ensignanna.tumblr.com/) for making all my ramblings readable. :)

The guard’s unyielding steps echo in the hallways behind Loki, each thud painting new horrors in his mind.

Blood rushes in his ears.

What did Thor even think when sending him back to the harem?! With no preparation, just like _this_?

Loki fumes.

“And stay in your Jotun form until I tell you otherwise,” Thor had grit out when sending Loki away under the watchful eyes of the guard. Was he dense? It was a horrible idea, never intended to be more than a convenient lie to make Helblindi agree to him returning to Asgard. In reality it would never work. _Never_!

Thor is a bloody fool! Just because he is such a good natured oaf able to regain his earlier fondness of Loki despite him being what he was, he thinks other Aesir would be able to accept him as well. He would be in for a lecture in how closed minded his people actually are.

Growling under his breath, Loki crashes out of the palace portal and stomps towards the familiar form of the harem. The sun has nearly reached the horizon, making the harem throw a shadow nearly up to the palace portals. Not even the shade and the refreshing air still pouring out of the big portal in the sky could calm him now.

Painfully, Loki imagines how the disdain would spread on the faces of the youth in the harem, giving way to hatred. Maybe without the attack there would have been a tiny chance, but after his people tried to kill Thor, the King himself? Even if Thor forces him to stay with them, the girls would never see him as anything but a monster!

And Sigyn!

The thought of her nearly tears his heart to pieces. She would hate him! All this time she thought they were friends and that she knew him, only to learn he was one of the monsters her parents told her about at night. Oh, how he wishes to never have to face her again, so no moment of betrayal could spoil his memory of their friendship.

Without her, none would stand on his side in the harem.

And the others?

Oh, they would fear him and hate him, scaring themselves with horrible lies about him. Certainly they would avoid him, using each and every moment to show how much they despised him, pleading Skadi and Balder to expel him.

And then they would send him back to his dungeon cell.

Well, at least he would find some peace there.

It was certainly better than to get their revulsion permanently rubbed in his face.

The revelation hits him after two more steps of brooding. That was it! He simply had to pass the first stage – being thrown out of the harem – as quickly as possible and soon he could go back to his cell, where no one bothered him. Except for Thor, of course. But he would bother him in the harem just as much, so no loss on this side.

So. How could he get thrown out as quickly as possible?

Yeah, the first glimpse of blue skin would startle them. But how could he make the surprise into an uproar?

There is too little time to come up with a more sophisticated plan. When, they reach the harem’s front portal, the guard points his head to the portal, knowing well that only Loki is allowed to enter. Loki snorts.

“Just wait a minute. This won’t take long,” he quips, granting the guard a toothy grin.

Judging by the sun’s position, the youth would be dining right now.

Good! He could get them all at once.

He pushes the harem door open, striding towards the kitchens before the courage leaves him. There he is greeted by the sounds of chattering girls and tingling dishes. Loki takes a deep breath to calm himself when he reaches the kitchen door.

Another breath.

He could do this.

He throws the door open, strutting in as regally as possible, putting a feral grin on his face.

The silence falls.

Wide eyes and gaping mouths are turned towards him from all the tables. Some of the girls froze just while lifting a spoon or a piece of bread half way to their mouths’. Balder stands equally stunned at the buffet, being on the point of scooping himself a bowl of soup from a large pot.

Somewhere a single bird croaks.

It’s beautiful.

Slowly horror spreads on the faces. Loki makes sure to let his glance wander over everyone in the room. They surely tremble beneath his piercing red gaze.

“Did you miss me?” he purrs into the silence, grinning viciously.

Two seconds and none has moved.

But it wouldn’t be long before the first ones would reclaim their senses.

Glut’s face progressively darkens, her breath quickening. Balder blinks, hanging the ladle onto the edge of the pot.

“Skaa…” Glut starts to yell, but gets interrupted by a chair being pushed back so hard it tumbles.

Loki has barely time to snatch his head left towards the sound of the chair followed by the jittery steps. Sigyn howls a deafening “YES” and throws herself at him. Her impact throws him backwards mid-gasp, sending them both tumbling to the ground.

And the room sinks into chaos.

Balder’s call for silence and composure gets drowned within seconds. Glut yells for Skadi as if her life depends on it, and dozens of the others start screaming either for Skadi, Balder or other girls, and the Allfather himself, yelling at each other to shut up, and over all Lorelei’s boisterous laughter thunders.

And Sigyn is yelling at him. While he is lying flat on his back, staring at her while she sits on top of him, shaking him with fury, making it incredible hard to actually comprehend her words. Something about irresponsible recklessness might be among it.

Doesn’t she see how he looks? 

Loki stares at her with wide eyes and jaw gaping. Perhaps she was color blind?

With a thud, a plate crashes to the ground near Loki’s head and he flinches away, just in time to notice Skadi’s portentous form towering over them. She must have just returned from the upstairs.

“THROWING TABLEWARE? THAT IS WHAT WE HAVE COME TO?!? IS THAT WORTHY OF A QUEEN?” Skadi bellows, silencing the room within seconds.

Fuming, she shoos them away, barging into the kitchens and snapping at two girls who happened to have plates lifted ready to throw. Hasty, Sigyn grabs Loki’s arm, pulling him along as she slips back to her place, quickly righting the overthrown chair.

And suddenly he sits there, among the startled girls, pushed onto a bench beside Lorelei, who wails in the effort to stifle her laughter while tears run over her cheeks. Beside her, Amora glares, radiating more of the icy cold than the portal in the sky did over a whole week.

Across the room, Skadi snaps at one last girl, making her flinch back, snapping her mouth shut. Within the resulting silence, she slowly turns to Loki, a dangerous look in her eyes. His urge to change back to his Aesir form, as if he could that way hide among the girls, becomes overwhelmingly strong as she stalks towards him.

“What are you doing here?” she inquires, voice dangerously softly. Not even a breath breaks the silence.

“Thor has send me here,” Loki states, hating the defensive sound of his voice.

“The King, you mean?” Skadi growls.

Loki swallows.

“Yes, that one.”

Stiff as a spear, she strides out of the harem’s kitchen and soon they hear the front portal opening. The following conversation is to low and rash to make out words, but as she returns, her eyes are flashing with ire.

“By order of the King, Loki will stay with us until the end of the selection,” she announces harshly, and several youth gasp.

“After all he _did_ , he will still be included in the competition?!” Glut shrieks, making Skadi twist and pierce her with her eyes.

“No!” Skadi counters. “As I said, he is to _stay_ here until the end of the selection. That does not mean he will take part in it.”

Loki presses his lips to a line and stares down to the table. Hearing it spelled out stings. But why? After all that _Thor_ did, Loki would never want to have anything to do with him anymore. The bloody liar. Tears well up in him. How could he _dare_ to claim he never killed Angrboda. How dared he to make Loki hope for this to be true? 

“Wow. You really did hope for him to choose you,” Amora snorts.

“No,” Loki snaps, abruptly snapped back to reality.

“Then why are you crying?”

“Isn’t seeing your face reason enough for that?” he retorts, drawing another laughter from Lorelei and lifted eyebrows from Amora.

From his right, Sigyn shoves her plate towards him. It’s still loaded with a bunch of grapes and a barely touched slice of bread. “Here, start with that! I’m gonna get us some more. How did you manage to grow so _thin_ in just one week?” Sigyn breathes, already jumping to her feet to make towards the buffet, not waiting for an answer.

Loki can only stare at her, then at the food. His mouth waters, reminding him that he skipped lunch over all what happened. There simply had not been time or care for eating before the council, and afterwards everything happened so fast.

Slowly he takes a grape, realizing that this _was_ true _._

He was back.

And he would stay here for three more months.

* * *

When Loki is lead away by the guard, Thor finally allows himself to groan and slump against the doorframe which leads to the balcony. During the whole conversation he stood there, mostly staring outside, the cape pulled over one shoulder so the guard wouldn’t spot the ice blade planted in his flesh. He didn’t even have to pretend the impatience to inspire the guard to hurry.

He had to get this healed before anyone notices and starts asking.

Thor takes a tentative step and curses the resulting pain flaring through his leg.

Ok, this wasn’t working.

Groaning, he pulls the tiny dagger from his leg and instantly blood soaks his trousers. The blood is nearly invisible on the black leather. On the silver armor on his chest, however, it would stick out clearly. So the blade would have to stay in his shoulder where he could cover it with the cape, until he reaches the healer’s wing.

With a start, he halts.

He couldn’t go there.

Eir wasn’t supposed to know about his little detour and she would certainly recognize Jotun-made ice. Everyone would suspect Loki.

Thor curses.

He couldn’t have that.

But who else?

For a second he considers going to his mother. She was a powerful seidkona, familiar with healing. But she, too, would recognize the ice. Perhaps he could just batch himself up and take a long rest? Surely the bleeding would still in no time, as always.

A sudden cough overwhelms him, forcing him to bend. When it subsides, the hand he covered his mouth with is sprayed with tiny red drops. Shit. But he couldn’t let anyone know Loki attacked him! If the council got to know this, it would mean Thor would have to punish him.

But there was no one else!

None he could turn to!

Well… Actually there was someone…

* * *

Thor stumbles, hitting the wall painfully. Panting, he leans against it and suddenly a laughter bubbles up in him. Oh how pathetic it would be to bleed out ten meters from the door to the abyss, after he forced himself down all those wicked stairs.

With one last willed effort, he forces himself to stumble towards the door. Fighting the key to slip into the lock despite heavy trembling of hands, he unlocks the door and pushes it open. The door wings fly against the wall, and he staggers forward until his knees give in.

For a time, he just rests there.

“By the Norns,” Angrboda breathes from behind the bars. “How badly did you have to spoil my simple and straightforward strategy to get hurt like this?!”

Thor laughs throaty, fighting himself back to his feet and stumbling to the bars before the barrier. “Not at all. It worked splendidly! We took the portal to Jotunheim, got Helblindi’s agreement, and the portal should be closed soon and all without anyone noticing!”

“Agreed?” Angrboda exclaims, incredulously pointing at the ice blade protruding from Thor’s shoulder. “This is not what agreement looks like at all!”

Thor starts to laugh but gets interrupted by another coughing fit. He unlocks a mechanism that allows four of the bars to sink into the ground and stumbles right through the barrier, collapsing inside of the cell.

Angrboda follows him with his eyes, a frown deeply cut into his forehead. Thor answers his frozen stare with a broad grin. “So, you may start to fix it as soon as you please,” Thor chuckles, pointing at his shoulder. He hefts himself into a sitting position, back against the wall beside the barrier.

Angrboda’s eyes narrow. “Of course you realize this is the perfect opportunity for me to take revenge, Thunderer,” he ponders while stalking closer.

Thor chuckles. “Sure. Kill me! Or leave me to die – it matters not. After they finish the search outside, my father will come looking for me here, finding my body with you. Jotunheim and Loki would be gone faster than you could claim you were innocent.”

Angrboda hisses, his eyes flashing with anger, but he doesn’t argue. Cursing under his breath, he kneels beside Thor, pressing a large blue hand on Thor’s shoulder right before he rips out the blade. Thor yelps at the sudden sting, before the pain slowly subsides as Angrboda stops the bleeding.

“See. Soon, we will be like family,” Thor quips, drawing a snort out of Angrboda, who turns towards the ice blade, examining it in his hands. Thor swallows, but Angrboda just continues eyeing the weapon, seidr sparkling around his hands.

“You do realize that you are not finished, yet?” Thor grumbles, pointing at the smaller stab wound on his leg. Frowning, Angrboda returns his attention to Thor, eyeing the injury. Then he pokes it.

Thor curses, pulling his leg away.

“Relax,” Angrboda rumbles, his lips turning into a grin. “I am merely admiring my dear nephew’s work.” He hums appreciating. “Just an inch further to the left and he would have hit the artery. Sloppy,” Angrboda muses.

“Sloppy, because he nearly killed me or sloppy because he didn’t?” Thor grunts. Again, Angrboda pokes at the muscle around the wound, pressing some ice crystals out along with a fresh wave of blood.

Thor growls, but instead of finally getting to it, Angrboda chuckles. “You won’t die from this one, so neither Loki nor Jotunheim will be punished if I leave it like this. I guess you will have to offer me something else.”

Thor groans. “What do you want?”

“Not much. Just tell me how it went, and what made Loki attack you like this.”

Thor sighs. Well, that wasn’t too much to ask. So he quickly narrates, only briefly mentioning the council meeting. There was no sense in antagonizing the giant further by mentioning Loki’s helpless rage.

When he’s done, Angrboda quickly closes the injury on Thor’s leg, brooding in silence. Thor lets out a relieved breath when the sting shrinks to a dull ache. He rises, stretching and testing the fixed tissue. Certainly, Eir would pamper him further, but he could live with this.

“Thanks,” Thor acknowledges. “There is one last thing. I need you to write a letter to Loki, so he knows I didn’t kill you.”

Angrboda gives him a long stare, the face bare of emotions, yet his hands open and clench a few times.

“No,” Angrboda states and turns away.

“No?” Thor echoes.

“No,” he repeats, calmly.

“Why not?” Thor queries, incredulous. “He mistrusts my words. He mourns you! Do you _wish_ to torment him further?!”

“You understand nothing, Aesir. He would not mourn me if it hadn’t been for you.” Angrboda laughs coldly. “He wouldn’t have been brought into the palace’s harem if it hadn’t been for you. He would not had to live through torture, pain, fear and humiliation. If. It. Was. Not. For. You!”

Angrboda’s eyes are boring into Thor’s as he stalks closer. “You and your family are the source and the trigger for practically every bad thing that has ever happened to him. And from what you have just told me, I conclude that his mourning for me is now the last thing preventing you from getting to him.”

The rumble of Angrboda’s voice lowers to a dangerous growl. “All pain he could feel by mourning me is less than what he would yet have to suffer because of you. I am protecting him, and if he means anything to you, you should do well by setting him free. And _never_ put a hand on him again.”

* * *

The dinner was nice since Loki was able to choose food himself, yet it still has been exhausting. Talking, tentative glances as well as glares and chuckling had floated towards him from _everywhere_ , making his head buzz. On Sigyn’s questioning look, he only shook his head silently, hoping she would understand that he wouldn’t want to talk about his experiences around the others. She let it go, pressing his hand compassionately.

Her attempts to make conversation draw a smile out of Lorelei, but are almost directly silenced by Amora’s glare.

So they eat in uneasy silence.

Hadn’t it been for the warm presence of Sigyn’s hand on his arm, it would have been painfully hostile. But this way it feels … alright. He will have to talk to her later. It makes his heart skip a beat. She does not seem to be angry at him, but how could she be not? How could she not hate him?

Suddenly, a girl called Hroen gasps and reels back from the window beside her. “What is _that!?”_ she screeches, pointing at the sky.

“The gap! They are closing the gap!” Einmyria extols, hurrying to the window.

The girls sitting closer to the window instantly crowd against it, peeking into the sky and blocking everyone else’s sight. Amora hisses in anger, pushes her chair back and struts out, making for the garden exit. Within seconds, the youth push behind her. The sudden silence around Sigyn and Loki is only broken by Balder’s and Skadi’s simultaneous groans.

So it’s time.

Loki hoped it had been enough time for Helblindi to gather all his sorcerers. He clenches his fists, staring at his plate until a soft pull on his sleeve draws his attention to Sigyn. She’s fidgeting, looking all uneasy.

“Don’t you want to go, too?” She points her head towards the garden.

No, he doesn’t. He wants nothing but to rest, preferably in silence. But she wants to go, obviously. And if she would go, and he didn’t, the warmth of her hand on his arm would be gone. And besides, he owes her at least this much.

So he nods, rising.

When they join the others, colored lights spark and dance around the disc of the portal, solid black against the dark blue of Asgard’s sky. A distant growl, not unlike thunder yet much more continuous, sounds as the Allfather and his sorcerers ensue.

Suddenly a particularly heavy growl comes from the portal, accompanied by an explosion of sparks. A moment later, a wave of freezing air sweeps over them, shaking the trees and causing some of the girls to gasp. Above them, the enormous ring of the portal shrinks while the atmospheric discharge doubles. Amora and Lorelei exchange frowns. For a second, Lorelei’s eyes are on Loki, before she stares up again.

“Why aren’t they simply snapping it shut,” Lorelei ponders, eyes narrowed. Amora only shakes her head.

  
“It seems they are delaying it on purpose.”

Loki swallows at the thought how much of Yggdrasil’s branch’s strength must discharge towards Jotunheim right now. But Helblindi was warned! Hours ago. Oh, hopefully Helblindi’s sorcerers were as powerful as Odin’s. From the portal, the constant whizz of discharge halls over the city and squalls of cold and hot air chase each other, ruffling Loki’s hair.

“Why is there so much tension!?” Amora hisses.

Suddenly, a blinding ray flashes from the mountains at the portal. Thunder shakes the ground and steam erupts around it. Glut yelps, staggering back towards the doors.

“Alright. You can still watch from behind the walls!” Balder shouts and many of the girls more than obediently hurry inside. Amora does not. She stares up, unable to take her eyes off the spectacle, biting her lip. A deep frown cuts her forehead.

Sigyn’s hand, now curled around Loki’s, shivers just so slightly. Her eyes are fixed at the sky. She swallows. He pulls her slightly. They should join the others inside.

Then another ray zips over the sky and Amora whirls around, glaring at Loki. “You!” she demands. “Explain why they aren’t closing it at once!”

He answers her stare with a glare of his own, a mixture of hate and grudge wells up in him. Yeah, _now_ she wanted him to be nice after pouring her disdain over him during the dinner?

“You know something about it?” Sigyn breathes beside him and the angry retort dies on his lips.

“A branch of Yggdrasil was bound to Jotunheim to stabilize the portal,” he drones. Amora’s eyes narrow while Sigyn bites her lip. Amora keeps staring at him, so he adds, “They need to break it just before closing the portal or it will throw their force right back.”

A sudden sharp crack sounds and the ground shivers, making Amora turn back to the portal without a word of gratitude or acknowledgement. At once the tension vanishes from the air. The lash must have been caused by the breaking of the branch. Loki’s heart skips a beat.

Right now on Jotunheim, results of Helblindi’s preparations will show. He has had a sufficient amount of time. Surely he used it well. Still, Loki prays for his wellbeing.

Above them the frequency and intensity of flashes increase.

“You know, it grows boring,” Sigyn states, ignoring Lorelei’s incredulous stare, turning to the Harem and pulling Loki along. Not that it takes much. He can feel the judgment irradiating from the youth as they scramble through the crowd and rush to the dorms.

He can’t wait to get away.

Gratitude washes over him as they reach the solitude of the hallway.

But as happy he is to leave them all behind, walking up the familiar stairs into their rooms, everything feels eerily distant.

As if he had been another person when he first came here.

Well, in fact he was, at least in terms of biology.

Everything seems so much brighter through his Jotun eyes.

In a trance, Loki stumbles to his old room. The door swings open and the familiarity of the room pulls him inside, as if he was never gone.

He shivers.

It even _smells_ right.

The feet carry him to the bed without waiting for a command. He drops on it, clings to the sheets and pushes his face deep into the soft folds.

Suddenly his throat starts to ache, and his hands to tremble.

No. Not just the hands.

But why?

He takes a deep breath, trying to force himself to calm down. Why was this happening?!

A click indicates the door is shut and soft steps are approaching. Sigyn. Funny how you could learn to identify people by something like sound of their feet.

Trying to ignore the tremble, he rolls over and sits up.

“Here! I cared for him, while you… “ Sigyn starts proudly before her voice falls silent. “Loki… are you…”

On Sigyn’s shoulder sits the magpie! Bird and girl alike stare at him with the same wide eyes, following his shaking hands when he clasps them together.

“I am _fine,”_ he groans, annoyed, and wipes his suddenly tearing eyes roughly with his forearm. “I don’t know why… ” But of course it’s this exact moment his voice chooses to crack, turning it into a treacherous sob. He starts again, angry at his failing voice, only to find that now it’s so hoarse he barely makes a sound.

“What is this!?” he sobs, and Sigyn hurries to him, causing the magpie to flap off towards the cupboard with a startled croak. There it settles, eyeing them suspiciously. The warm clasp of Sigyn’s hands around Loki’s pulls his gaze back to her.

A tear escapes and rolls down his cheek, making his anger flare. His throat aches as if being cut. She wants to help him, he sees, but this only makes it worse!

She must leave now!

No, he needs to leave, to go somewhere else, somewhere he doesn’t tremble. Somewhere with other people, where he can control himself. Afraid to lose the last bit of self-control he still has, he winds against her grip pressing to get away.

But then she wraps her arms around him, and within him the levee holding all of his pain back breaks and is torn away by the stream.

She just sits there holding him while he weeps his soul out, cursing his own weakness yet unable to stop.

And she rubs his back.

He shivers. 

Finally, but far too late, he manages to draw a relatively calm breath.

Oh, if only he could avoid looking at her.

Swallowing hard, he forces himself to look up, drawing a breath to apologize, but flinches when their eyes meet. Her cheeks are wet, too. And her eyes are red. Well, not as red as his eyes are now, but definitely reddened by tears. She meets his silent question with a defiant stare.

“What?” she dares. “Crying is contagious. I am not sorry for joining.”

He is helplessly overpowered by a hoarse chuckle. When he can breathe again and they both have wiped their faces, he tries his best to gather his courage. Better apologize now, already having disgraced himself. A little more wouldn’t matter much.

He swallows, lowering his eyes. “I am sorry.”

She frowns. He can feel it.

“What for?”

“For everything!” he pledges, grapping her hands. “You’re the only one I would really consider a friend and all this time we spend here…I wish I could have told you…” his voice fails him, and he swallows once more. “…I could have told you who I…”

He fights, trying to say it out aloud, but before he can find the right words, she smiles and deadpans, “Oh, you told me” with a shrug. 

He reels back.

“What? No, I didn’t!”

Oh shit, did he? He searches his memory frantically.

Sigyn rolls her eyes. “Not explicitly, of course, you oaf.”

No! Thor was the oaf! He would _not_ be pushed into the same category!! He inhales to protest, but she continues before he’s able to cut in.

“This story about the Jotun prince,” she starts, blushing slightly. “You knew the complete version, long before we discussed it in class. And when I asked you how it would end, you kinda hinted it wouldn’t be over, yet.”

Loki’s mouth snaps shut. “Oh.” He frowns, processing what he just heard. “But. If you realized… why didn’t you tell Balder and Skadi?” A second thought pierces him. What if she actually _did,_ making them protect him the whole time until he busted the secret?!

Her awkward squirming pulls his thoughts back to the presence. “I … I did actually think about it. But then Amora started talking shit about you and you looked so _lost_ …” Her voice fades while she starts kneading her hands. Then she looks up abruptly. “When you snapped at me for avoiding you I realized this couldn’t be some intrigue to kill the king. You must have been truly lonely.”

He looks away. Embarrassing how easy to read he must have been. No wonder Angrboda didn’t want him to have any friends! The thought of Angrboda stings him in a sudden and piercing way, making him cringe.

“But there is one thing I still don’t understand,” Sigyn admits, pulling him from his thoughts the second time. “Why did you really start to compete?”

He deflates. “I told you. I wished to help Jotunheim and my people. Thor already acknowledged the Jotun in the vault being victims because I made him consider them. It didn’t seem all impossible.” He sighs tiredly. “I also had some kind of crush on him, at that time.”

She nods, looking down for a time. “So, not anymore?”

His chest aches hollowly, like an echo of all the pain of the past week. Weird, how it was only one week that fucked up his life so entirely. If feels like half a life time away.

“I don’t even know myself anymore,” he states weakly. “I thought I did the right thing by saving him…”

“You _saved_ him?!” Sigyn gasps, her hands grabbing his arms.

“Yeah? Didn’t they tell you?”

“NO!” she exclaims, her cheeks red with anger. “Freyja came and told us you were Jotun, and about the attack, but no details! What happened?!”

“I actually _stopped_ the attack,” Loki fumes. “Of all people I wouldn’t have suspected Freyja to gloss over …” Suddenly he chuckles. “Oh, never mind. I just remembered that she was knocked out when it happened.”

Sigyn’s eyes widen further than he thought possible. “She was what!?”

And so he tells her about the attack, reveling in the memories of his stunning twenty seconds of glory. The moment when the comprehension slowly spread over Thor’s and the Jotnar’s faces.

Sigyn hangs on his every word, her expression showing as much veneration as fear. “I think I know why she didn’t tell us,” Sigyn ponders afterwards, biting her lip. “She told us your race but not of your royal heritage.”

He frowns.

“Oh, so I can’t make everyone address me as ‘your royal highness’? That’s a pity,” he sighs. She giggles and punches playfully his shoulder.

“And where have you been the rest of the week?” she suddenly asks, popping his amusement like a fruit of Gnome's Hatstand

He sighs. “In the dungeon, mainly.”

When he looks up again, she stares at him, incredulous. “You are jesting!”

He shakes his head. What did she expect? That they thank him? He laughs hollowly. “No.”

“But why?” she fumes. “At least they have realized their mistake now! The dungeon! That must have been horrible!” She gathers him furiously into her arms.

Again, his breath halts. She doesn’t know what she was talking about, naturally. How should she? He clenches his fists, trying to contain a new wave of hurt. Somehow she must have felt his tension, since she hesitates to peek onto his expression. Her hands tremble slightly.

“What happened?” she breathes, horror creeping into her eyes. Suddenly her gaze wanders over his hands, his neck, and every part visible. “What have they _done_?”

Painfully, he remembers the flaring pain of Tyr’s tools, and the piercing starvation, but everything fades beside the burning agony of watching Thor and Angrboda fight. He cringes violently, unable to answer.

No, no, no! It couldn’t be! He can’t be gone!

_He is dead_!

But Thor said…

_It doesn’t matter what he claims as long as he doesn’t provide any proof! He only says such things to make me do what he wants!_

But what if he didn’t lie? What if…

“Loki!” Sigyn’s urges, breathless. And she is shaking him! He groans and tries to shake her hands off, but she stares at him as if he might collapse any moment. Perhaps she’s not that wrong.

“I can’t,” he manages to grit out, pushing his conflicted emotions to the back of his mind and breathing through gritted teeth. “Please, please tell me something. Anything! I need to think about something else.”

She wrings her hands with a small wail, making him spit out a something that sounded half chuckle, half sob.

But then she spills a river of stories about Amora’s and Glut’s fight over a hair lotion, about the magpie stealing one of Einmyria’s earrings and about Skadi making them run through the harem’s garden in pairs bound together by their legs to train their teamwork.

At some point, they settle against the headboard of the bed. Somehow listening to the soft purr of her voice in the dark soothes Loki’s aching throat. It’s even cozy. She won’t notice if he closes his eyes for just a second, he assumes.

* * *

After the portal’s closure it only takes days for Asgard to regain its former summer heat. As if the cold had never happened, the birds start their cheerful courting and the buzz of insects returns, allured by the sweet fragrance of flowers.

On a single bench, amid Fensalir’s splendor, sits Frigga, listening to Thor while the butterflies that dance over the flowers avoid him. It’s almost as if a tiny storm would follow him around, ready to rain down on them at any given moment.

He sighs, stopping his pacing to throw her a glance fitting a kicked puppy much more than the ruler of the nine realms.

“And then he refused to negotiate further as long I wouldn’t swear to never speak to Loki again,” Thor complains.

Frigga folds her hands in her lap, smiling patiently.

“Of course, my dear! How else should he act? He knows you only as the ruler of his enemy and Loki is the most precious person to him. You have to prove yourself worthy to him.”

“I saved his realm from flooding! I took Loki out of the dungeons and agreed to let the attack remain practically unpunished. What else could he want?!” Thor throws his hands up in anger and returns to pace in an angry circle.

“Reliability, humility, and sincerity, I reckon,” Frigga ponders, a ghost of a smile playing upon her lips. “That would be what I would like to see in a son-in-law.”

“And how would I be supposed to display those merits without a crisis at hand?” Thor pouts. “Since the last one obviously wasn’t sufficient!”

A stricter expression takes over Frigga’s face. “Thor, my son. I suppose you know how to win someone over?”

That makes Thor freeze in his steps. He stares at her, incredulous. “I am not going to crawl in front of this giant bastard! And I certainly won’t bribe him.” 

, clenching his fists and turning his back to Frigga, ignoring her scolding head-shake. “You must know a way to prove his survival to Loki without his cooperation!” he demands, turning back to her.

She presses her lips to a thin line, her brows knitted with disapproval. Eventually, she sighs. “If you insist, I would advise moon stones. They are made by splitting a rare crystal found only on Jotunheim in two parts. Loki should know how to use one of the halves to establish a visual connection with the other. The second one you have to place near Angrboda.”

“Perfect!” Thor rejoices. “Thank you, mother! I shall write to Helblindi at once!”

“Just one thing,” Frigga cautions, stopping Thor who already started to stride away. “The prison barriers look opaque through a moonstone, so you have to place it on the same side as Angrboda.”

“Nothing easier than that,” Thor laughs, beaming at her, already on his way to his study.

Perfect!

Such an easy solution.

Elated, he nearly runs over Ullr who darts around a corner, obviously sharing Thor’s destination.

“Your highness,” Ullr gasps and staggers back. Breathing heavily, he bows. “Heimdal sent me with a message from Helblindi, rightful ruler of Jotunheim.” He hands Thor neatly rolled up and sealed parchment.

Now that was an interesting coincidence.

Frowning, Thor dismisses Ullr. What could Helblindi want so shortly after their last, even though unofficial, meeting? Despite his curiosity, he knows better than to open such a letter in the hallway, so he makes for his study.

His frown deepens while he reads.

He reads it again.

On the surface, it appeared an invitation to a memorial ceremony for the fallen, first of all for Angrboda. It was addressed to Thor, yet it’s obvious that the invitation is meant for Loki, and Thor’s presence is merely tolerated being inevitable.

Weird.

Generally, Helblindi was careful to keep up the appearance of following the rules of diplomacy.

Why wouldn’t he pay as much attention to this letter? Perhaps his disapproval of Thor’s closeness to his brother was stronger than Thor expected.

Thor can’t help the feeling of missing another message hidden between the lines.

Eventually he shrugs.

It doesn’t matter. A visit to Jotunheim would even speed up his plans concerning the moon stones.

* * *

“Under no circumstances!” Tyr hisses, and an approving murmur rises from the rest of the gathered council.

“The lost prince is an asset to valuable to let go off! The second his feet touch Jotunheim’s ground, he would be gone, fled or freed by his savage conspecifics.” His rant is accompanied by agreeing nods from some other council members. However, only few dare to show their agreement openly.

Tyr’s face is reddened with fury. “Furthermore, the runt’s current placement outside the dungeons is outrageous. He needs to be incarcerated at once to ensure he can’t get away,” he rails on, not realizing the awkward looks some of the council members exchange. Tentative glances are directed towards Thor, too.

Thor needs to invoke all his patience not to roar back. He wouldn’t win this with ire, but he might succeed with rationality, he reminds himself, willing to take one long breath before answering.

“Prince.”

Tyr’s eyes narrow to slits. “I beg your pardon?”

“You called him runt. That’s not appropriate for a prince of a vassal realm. You,” Thor takes a look around, “and everyone else will refer to him with the appropriate title.”

Thor takes another deep breath.

“Secondly, I am glad of your concern for our prisoner. Yet, I assure you he will get no change to escape. He will be accompanied by our fines warriors, his seidr bound and under constant surveillance of Heimdal himself. Or do you doubt even our faithful gatekeeper?” Thor argues, his voice as sweet as possible without getting haughty.

As expected, Tyr’s eyes flash and his hands clench to fists. Yet, he fails to notice the uneasy shifting of some other councilmen, their eyes darting from the king to Tyr and back again. “Showing them the focus of their vulgar superstition, the return of that legendary prince, all in good health and in cheerful spirit, will send them the opposite of the message they need!” he barks, gesturing jerkily. “Where are the executions as punishments for the attack? What about the flogging and whipping? That would be the message needed right now!”

This time Thor’s blood boils over. He’s half out of the seat, ready to show rather than tell what he thinks about Tyr’s ideas, when Odin’s cold voice cuts in.

At once, silence drops in the throne hall. The councilmen are standing rigid, and not even a breath is heard, even though Tyr’s jaw works so hard Thor expects to hear grinding.

Silently, Thor settles back onto the throne, as Odin slowly steps into the circle facing each of the councilmen successively. “As long the rebellion stirs Svartalfheim, Jotunheim must remain in peace.”

Nods of agreement appear on several faces. “Especially now, since the rate of assaults increases,” one even adds, sounding relieved. Odin nods solemnly.

“There are more and more giants seen among the elves, too,” Tyr argues heatedly, making Odin’s eyes snap towards him.

“That adds more reason to strengthen our position on Jotunheim,” Odin declares, leaving no room for further discussion. Anticipation makes the hair in Thor’s neck rise. Odin had told Thor to silence his sentiment.

Never would he support a plan so obviously playing into it without adding the second side of the coin.

When he turns to the throne, Thor catches himself swallowing. “If the attendance of their prince at the funeral is what they need to remain loyal, I shall personally guarantee this excursion will proceed as planned.”

A stone settles in Thor’s stomach. Yet, as his father’s eyes bore into his, he knows there will be no discussion. So he only pounds Gungir to the ground, thus closing the council.

Now this would definitely change the mood of their visit.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all, I would like to thank my beta [@ensignanna](https://ensignanna.tumblr.com/) for correcting many many typos and helping me find the correct words. This chapter was a mess when I sent it to her. 
> 
> Second, I made a mistake I have to correct now: Some chapters ago I introduced an item called "sun stone" and somehow I started calling it "moon stone" later on without noticing. Now that I _did_ notice, I intend to correct all former instances to "sun stone". 
> 
> Third: Please leave a review! ^.^

The imminent midday haze makes the air shimmer and the crickets chirp at the top of their capacity. Thor finally stirs in his sheets. Groaning, he rolls to his side, and reaches for a cup on the nightstand.

A few swigs of water clear his head a little.

He sits up and rubs his eyes. A young man like himself shouldn’t feel this batted after a good night of sleep. Well, half a night of sleep. He rubs the bridge of his nose.

So much for Freyja’s prediction of his sleep improving once the crisis is over.

But in her defense, his sleep _did_ come easier after the main crisis was solved. Now it doesn’t take the whole nights, but only the first half to fall asleep. Thor groans, brushes his hand through the hair and curses the memory of the screams that haunt him whenever he closes his eyes.

Why was he like this? He did the right thing when he struck Angrboda down! He _had_ to make it look convincing. Who could have known Loki would fall for the ploy, too? If anything it was _his_  fault for forgetting the sturdiness of Jotun skulls. Also, as soon as Thor learned of Loki’s misconception he cleared it up at once.

So why did the memories still torment him?! He lets himself collapse back onto the sheets.

If anything, this should be Thor’s hour of glory!

After all he not only shattered the conspiracy in the council, but also saved Jotunheim. And the cursed bastard of Loki’s uncle.

He should be celebrated!

At the very least, he should be thanked. But his mood turns sourer at the thought of the council. Certainly, that would never happen. And since they didn’t know about the traitors among them, there was not much of appeal for them to thank anyone for anything.

He groans. Thinking of the council only reminded him of all the loose ends he still had to tend to. Like Vinar and Njord having vanished into thin air.  

He groans once more. This was not at all what he wanted to think about!

So, whose gratitude would be the most delightful to receive? A dry chuckle rises in Thor’s throat as his thoughts lead him to Angrboda. Oh, it would be great to see Angrboda thank him, teeth-gnashing and his eyes flashing with anger. Angrboda was probably honorable enough to force a word of gratitude out of his throat when in debt, so this particular vision doesn’t seem too unlikely.

And now that Thor was at it - if Angrboda should see it necessary to lose a word of gratitude, Helblindi would surely feel obliged to join? After all, Angrboda had been advisor to the royal family of Jotunheim, at least as long as Helblindi was old, perhaps longer. Mayhap his influence on Jotunheim was still big enough to bring the prince to reason?

And suddenly his mouth goes dry.

How could he forget about _him_?

Getting appreciation from _Loki_ would compensate for the lack of every other recognition.

He imagines Loki glaring, contritely forcing the words out and blushing in anger, eyes averted in defiance. A grin curls Thor’s lips. He would smile, petting Loki’s blue cheek, tracing those delicate heritage lines to his ear, before resting his hand on his neck, muttering how gladly he did all he did. For Loki. Of course, this would bring even more color to Loki’s cheeks.

And then he would pull Loki closer, burying his face in the black curls, inhaling his sweet smell. Loki would shiver, as he always does when grabbed, but he wouldn’t back off. He would tremble and blush, but never retreat, all while desire and sense of duty fight beneath his surface.

Somehow his hand has found the way to his cock, increasing the passion of his fantasy by the second.

How thrilling it would be to see how far he could tease Loki, softly striking over his shoulders and arms, embrace him and hold him just as long as possible without reaching his breaking point. Perhaps, it would be the moment for Loki to draw a shaky breath and to look up at Thor with his dark crimson eyes.

Perhaps, he would run a hand over Thor’s chest, asking softly if Thor would allow him to express his gratitude in another way, blushing while speaking. And Thor would only hum, holding him back while pressing soft kisses on Loki’s lips and letting a hand run over Loki’s back.

But as far as he knows, it wouldn’t take long until Loki would wriggle himself free from Thor’s grip, looking all defiant, and demand to know if Thor wouldn’t think him strong enough to let actions follow his words. Furiously as a wild cat, he would push Thor backwards onto the bed, his hands swiftly getting rid of Thor’s pants.

Thor breathes a desperate moan as his cock swells at the thought of Loki throwing him into the sheets, and he increases the speed of his hand. Desperately beating his flesh, he imagines the warm cavity of the mouth around his dick. Then his dick erupts, spilling all over the sheets. Thor’s back arches and his toes curl into the sheets.

Afterwards, he lays there panting, until the rush in his ears subsides.

Thor chuckles softly.

It’s probably too late to question any of his life choices. Not that he really chose to fall for Loki. But anyway - now he can only follow through with it.

He grins.

Not that he would regret doing so.

* * *

Loki groans and rests his forehead against the wall.

“Just a second.” Sigyn’s hairbrush moves so fast that the hair not being completely pulled from the head is short of a miracle. She tries to slip into her shoes, which poses a challenge since she cannot use the hands. Ointments, manicure tools and brushes of different sizes are scattered all over Sigyn’s usually tidy room.

The clatter of tableware from downstairs makes Sigyn flinch. “Almost…” she gasps, jumping towards the door on one leg, while pulling the shoe over her other foot. Finally! Loki and Sigyn hurry towards the kitchen. To Loki’s profound relief, they find no one there but a lone servant stacking plates and bowls beside the buffet.

Sigyn eases up with a deep exhale, then throws Loki a guilty smile. “You wouldn’t believe how much one can get used to sleeping late in just one week.”

 “Sorry,” he sympathizes, smiling uneasily while putting an orange on his plate. But she simply shrugs it off with a smile and loads her own plate with grapes.

Too bad they have merely half an hour before more girls descend from the dorms. Loki pretends not to see their glaring when the girls appear and make it a show to take chairs as far away from them as possible.

“The weather is so nice today. Why don’t we wait outside until the lessons start?” Sigyn proposes, trying to appear casual. Loki nods.

In the hall, they meet Skadi, who enters through the front doors and gestures them to approach as soon as she spots them.

“You’ve got a letter,” she announces, handing over a big role of parchment bearing the heavy sigil of Asgardian kings to Loki. His heart immediately speeds up in anticipation, making him grip the parchment stronger than necessary, crinkling it in the process.

It must be the letter from Angrboda Thor had promised!

Without a word, he swirls around and dashes back to his room. Sigyn, who had been at his heels up to that point, stops in the door biting her lip. There is an unspoken question on her face. He rolls his eyes in reply and urges her with a quick, “come on!”

 On his bed, he breaks the sigil and unrolls the sheet with trembling hands. A smaller roll falls out of the bigger one, its sigil already broken.

Loki’s heart drops. He recognizes the second sigil as well. It’s Helblindi’s. Suddenly he isn’t sure if it was good to have Sigyn here. She seems to share his sentiment, still lingering uneasily by the door.

But he wouldn’t un-invite her now, so he starts reading, starting with Thor’s letter. His eyes water when he’s done and the familiar lump of pain, hurt and anger reappears in Loki’s throat. Painfully aware of Sigyn’s presence, he swallows a few times, hoping to discretely get rid of it.

“That’s about those things you didn’t want to talk about, right?” she asks softly.

He takes a long, hissing breath as a tear escapes his eye, running down his cheek. Exactly. He didn’t want to talk about and he doesn’t want to now. Yet, he’s nearly certain his voice will break if he tries to tell her.

Soft steps announce her approaching. She sits beside him, resting a hand on his back.

“Listen, Loki,” she starts, her voice uncertain. “Whatever Tyr did to you in the dungeons, I am sure Skadi won’t let anything…”

“Tyr?” Loki snaps, sudden anger boiling up in him. “That wasn’t just Tyr! This was HIM! This rotten son-of-a-bitch ass of a King. And he didn’t do anything to _me._ He …” As expected his voice breaks, but now he’s too furious to let it go.

“He murdered my uncle!” Loki sobs.

And with that is was out. The ache in his throat was back, making it hurt like a cut. But now he can’t stop the words pouring out, as if someone had pulled a plug.

“And as if that wasn’t bad enough, he can’t even admit it, but pretends Angrboda were still alive. Yet refuses to give any proof!” Loki sobs and jumps to his feet, passing through the room, his fists clenched. “He promised me a letter! He _promised_!! Yet, now he claims Angrboda wouldn’t want to write,” Loki rants, whirling around to face Sigyn, who sits on the bed, startled.

“He did what?” she asks, her voice faint.

“Why wouldn’t Angrboda want to write me a letter?! It’s so obvious that all his rotten words are a scheme that it’s becoming ridiculous!” Loki shouts, ignoring her question.

“He did what?” Sigyn repeats incredulous.

 “And he wants me to join a memorial ceremony on Jotunheim. What kind of …” Loki hisses, searching for the most despicable curse known, as a sharp knock on the door startles him into silence.

As the door opens, Skadi’s stern frown greets them.

“What are you waiting for?” Skadi asks in a voice that indicates she doesn’t really expect an answer. “Class was supposed to start ten minutes ago and we are only waiting for you!”

But her eyes are jumping from Loki’s tear-stained cheeks over Sigyn’s shocked gaze to the opened letter on the bed. Skadi sighs, enters and shuts the door behind her.

Before Loki finds any words, Sigyn’s distressed “He murdered your uncle?!” disrupts the silence, making Skadi’s shoulders drop. Fresh pain pierces Loki’s throat. Of course. Why not discuss his fate with everyone in the harem.

“Yes, Loki’s uncle was killed in battle,” Skadi confirms softly. “Which is just another reason for us to end this generations old hostility so tragedies like this don’t happen again. And therefore, you need to come and join the lessons.”

“Oh, please. That’s nonsense and you know it!” Loki snarls, only stopping himself barely from spilling the news about Thor’s and his trip to Jotunheim to warn Helblindi.

But Skadi’s compassionate expression doesn’t falter. “Do you hate Aesir?”

“I surely hate some,” Loki spits, clenching his hands.

“Because they wronged you,” Skadi adds. “But in general?”

He wants to spit a ‘yes’ in Skadi’s face, but at the corner of his view Sigyn gives a small wail. So he grits his teeth, muffling a grumpy “no”.

“Because you lived here long enough to know we aren’t all the same, but everyone is a different person with individual strengths and faults.”

“Perhaps,” he growls, anticipating where the talk was going and instantly hating it.

“So, to allow the youth down there to learn that Jotun are not some abstract concept but…” Skadi starts.

“They hate me, ok? They hated me before and it only got worse after _this,_ ” he hisses and points at his face. “They will NEVER see me as anything but a monster. They would gladly chase me with pitchforks and torches at the slightest provocation.”

The way Skadi rights her posture makes the temperature in the room drop several degrees. “Whoever tries shall learn that _you_ are not the one to fear in this building,” she declares, turning around towards the door.

A shiver runs over Loki’s back. A single glance in Skadi’s face makes it clear that the conversation is over, so he wipes his cheeks with annoyed rub of his arm and stomps out. Sigyn scurries after him, rendered speechless.

In the gardens, Balder stops his lecturing until they have taken seats as far to the side as possible and all the curious glances of the girls have receded. Skadi remains standing, simply putting her weight against a tree, while observing the group.

“As I said, in such negotiations the king will often have to veil his personal opinion concerning the topic to promote the solution. Therefore, he might state things you won’t agree with or appear to favor persons you deem unworthy. Would someone repeat for Loki and Sigyn how a good queen should act in such a situation?”

On his sign, Einmyria holds up her hand. When elected, she eagerly recites, “To support the king and to avoid disrupting his plans, the queen has to show support for his case regardless of her feelings towards the matter. If she truly disagrees, she needs to wait for a private moment to comment or express doubts.”

“Correct,” Balder agrees. “Of course this is not only true for negotiations with other realms, but for every situation you need to show unity. Confronting a leader in front of strangers will always weaken his position. Never underestimate the tremendous effort of leading even one realm! All his subjects rely on their king and judge him based on his demeanor.”

Nausea wells up in Loki as he remembers that Thor hinted the council was watching his actions. He clenches his fists. No! He would not search for points supporting Thor’s case. The ass was trying to use him, and nothing more!

From the side, Glut sneers at him until he glares at her.

For the rest of the lesson, Loki remains mindful to guard his face, enduring all of Balder’s examples of good support without any motion. His head aches when they are finally released into the midmorning break.

Moaning, he pulls himself up and exchanges a suffering glance with Sigyn. At least, until her eyes shift to something behind him, widening. When he turns around, he finds himself eye to eye with Glut, who is sneering again.

“That must have been hard for you, right? To picture something as much against your nature as supporting someone,” she mocks him without any introduction. “Why do you even bother to come anymore? Everyone can see that no class will ever make _you_  fit to assist the King.”

“It’s such a disgrace,” Glut taunts just as Amora strides past them. It was almost as if her words, despite being directed at Loki, actually were meant for Amora. “Isn’t it, Amora?”

With a huff, Amora stops and returns to them, head slightly shaking in disappointment. She puts a hand on Glut’s shoulder, sighing deeply. “Truly, Glut? _This_  is the pinnacle of your cunning? You have had about _two hours_ to come up with something witty and _this_ is all that you can deliver?“

Amora shakes her head a last time, deeply disappointed, and turns away. “With that performance you are certainly the wrong person to talk about disgrace.”

Glut is standing there, frozen with her mouth agape. “Welcome, misfit. Amora nudges Loki’s shoulder and turns away, disappearing into the harem. With a furious wail, Glut storms after her, leaving a baffled Loki and giggling Sigyn behind.

* * *

For weeks, it seems the day he would at least see his brothers again would never come. But then the day of the memorial is suddenly there.

Cursing desperately, Loki takes a swift look at a blue tunic before throwing it aside, taking the next garment from the cupboard to submitting it to the same procedure. 

“No, no, no, NO!” he shouts, making Sigyn flinch and Skadi groan. “These are terrible! There will be hundreds of my people. Wearing something like this would be like punching them in the face!”

“If you prefer a loincloth, I am sure we can improvise one despite the pressing time,” Skadi jests, dodging the sock that comes instantly flying at her with a casual step to the side.

“Why again didn’t you want to wear the armor?” Sigyn inquires tentatively, while admiring the artful combination of leather and golden metal that shines from a mannequin beside his wardrobe.

Loki averts his gaze, pressing his lips to a thin line. _Because I already wore it there once, and Helblindi might thing I don’t have anything except,_ he wants to retort, but that’s ineligible, of course.

“It looks like war. Like Asgardian war. If I wear it my people will think I forgot them or switched sides” he complains weakly, looking at his hands.

“I don’t think it looks like war,” Sigyn disagrees. “There is too little metal on it. And it suits you.”

“She is right,” Skadi states dryly. “And since you already rejected everything else, it’s the armor or the tablecloth.”

The second sock finally hits its target.

Cursing under his breath, he starts taking on the heavy trousers. “I should have gotten something else tailored for such an important event!” he complains.

“Oh, thank the fate you didn’t come up with this idea before,” Skadi groans, palming her face. “Everyone would have insisted on the same rights. I would have never gotten out of explaining all those additional costs. And don’t get me started on the disruption of the lectured for taking everyone’s measurements.”

* * *

It’s nearly evening when the guard finally comes to escort Loki towards the stables. Excited bird songs fill the air. Willing his face to be calm, Loki takes a deep breath, ignoring the suspicious glances directed towards him. This _staring_ was unnerving. While the harem girls finally grew bored of staring at his blueness, the rest of Asgard was still thrilled.

Or affronted.

_It doesn’t matter what they think of me,_ he forces himself to think over and over.

On Jotunheim, it would be just before midday. He should be grateful for the time difference! This way he wouldn’t get there drenched in his own sweat, as it would have been if he had to leave during midday. How did he ever think the Asgardian summer was hot when he was still wearing his Aesir skin? It had been nothing compared to this oven. And rationally he knows that most Aesir don’t even regard this season as ‘summer’, but rather early autumn.

If only it would be winter already.

The stables allure him from afar with the promise of shade and a relief from the heat. But to his annoyance, the guard doesn’t bother to speed up, so Loki is several steps ahead of him when they reach the stables. He quickly slips through the door, deeply inhaling the fragrance of hay that dominates the stable air.

Unlike his last visit, three horses are readied and await their riders.

“Svad!!” Loki cheers. The other two horses snap their heads up in surprise as Loki flings his arms around Svad’s raven neck and buries his face in the shiny fur. A warm pressure at Loki’s back tells of Svads large head pressed to him, reciprocating his embrace in his own way.

Loki sighs into the fluff. A whole day with Svad in addition to meeting his brother! This was a good day after all, he thinks, as a soft nuzzling on his left arm makes him look up into Gullfaxi’s eyes in front of his. A chuckle escapes him, making her Gullfax reel back an inch and snort. But she returns in the next instant.

Grinning, Loki pets her velvet nose, mumbling words of praise, causing Svad to stomp and throw his head back.

“Will you let me greet a lady in peace, Svad?” Loki chides, earning a jealous huff. And then, without a further warning, Svad turns towards her, rising his snout to her ear, taking Loki’s breath away. “No..!” Loki starts shouting horrified and certain that Svad will bite her, already imagining how he should explain to Thor that Svad started a fight.

Yet, the words die on Loki’s lips as Svadilfari starts rubbing the sensitive spot behind other horse’s ear, melting her sudden tension at his movement into pure bliss. Her eye lids drop half way down and her lower lip relaxes. If she had been a cat she would have purred.

Loki lets his breath escape, shaking his head in disbelief. “Ok then. I guess we both can pet her. What a lucky mare she is,” he gushes, as a shadow falls over them. The clatter of too many hooves for one horse accompanies the forbidding impression of the last of the three horses. It’s all black, just as Svad, but its mane is much bulkier and his eyes stare into Loki’s disapprovingly.

As Loki’s glance wanders lower, taking in the many legs, a fearful anticipation washes over him. He carefully retreats, and even Gullfaxi recedes as far as her leash allows, pressing closer to Svad who neighs softly.

“Oh, you are early.” Thor’s familiar voice breaks the tension, his warm smile lighting up the stables and bringing back the flowery smell of hay and horses. Like in trance, Loki observes how Thor’s glance wanders over his armor, slightly adhering at his lips, before returning to his face. Radiating glee, Thor steps close and runs his fingers through Loki’s hair.

With a shiver, Loki catches himself leaning into the touch and retreats with a hiss. “Will you stop it? It’s hard work to straighten it like this,” he snaps, glowering pointedly.

Then he straightens his back, turning it on Thor. “You still owe me a letter,” Loki declares.

A small huff sounds and when Loki turns around Thor’s cheerfulness has given way to remorse. “I know,” Thor admits, shoulders sunken down. “You didn’t exaggerate his protectiveness.” Loki nearly chokes in sudden anger. What kind of protectiveness would ever make Angrboda refuse writing Loki a letter?!

Angrboda would never do something like this to Loki! NEVER!

It must be a lie.

But why would Thor say something about Angrboda being protective? Why, if not because he really did talk to him? Why should he think about a thing Loki said a lifetime ago? Surely, he would have forgotten long ago!

Before Loki can find any words, the spark returns to Thor’s eyes, he steps closer and takes Loki’s hand. “But don’t fret! I have a better plan to prove everything.” Thor takes a short look around, obviously on the verge of explaining further, when the sound of steps announce another person entering the stable.

Loki only sees it from the corner of his eye, but the way Thor tenses and drops Loki’s hand makes his stomach cringe. As Loki turns, Odin’s cold glance makes the hair rise on his neck. Only a second too late, Loki performs a bow, but Odin is already walking past him, taking the eight legged stallion’s reins.

Thor only sends a thin-lipped smile, making Loki’s jaw drop a little. Odin was joining them? And Thor didn’t feel obligated to mention it before? Only Odin’s fearsome presence hinders Loki’s ire to gain the upper hand. Still, Loki has to concentrate hard on his breathing when they follow Odin and mount their steeds.

Unsurprisingly, they make the way towards the Bifrost in utter silence. Loki carefully stays a bit behind the Aesir. Despite his apprehension, the opportunity to observe Thor and Odin in semi-private is thrilling.

Even though they do not really interact.

Bad tempered silence surrounds them from Asgard to Jotunheim, until they reach a small valley close to the shore where two large figures await them. Loki’s mood makes a sudden jump as he recognizes Helblindi towering in front of a large cave.

Loki blinks. From here he can see that Helblindi as well as his companion wear dark blue capes. So not just loincloths today! A tiny, selfish relieve relaxes his shoulders. He actually fit the dress code, even though in a nontraditional way!

Loki silently smiles to himself until Helblindi explains that the Aesir would have to join him watching the memorial from the mountainside since only Jotun were allowed to enter the sacred grounds. Thor’s head snaps up, his eyes narrowing, but Odin stops him by lifting a hand.

“We are well aware of your traditions,” he declares. “The prince has to stay in straight sight, however.”

Loki just manages to keep his face solemn. He was allowed to enter while Thor and Odin both would stay out? That was even better than expected! His eyes snap to Thor whose jaw muscles tense. But after a moment of hesitation, Thor nods, obviously against his true want.

And just so they leave.

The other Jotun leads Loki out of the cave and towards the valley.

Loki just realizes how much tension he felt when it vanishes in the second they are alone. He feels so relieved it’s nearly painful.

From above, the Jotun stares at Loki with uninterpretable expression. Well, it surely must be disappointing to meet the legend long promised in such an anti-climactic way. But if there were as many Jotun coming to the memorial as Loki fears, many would share his companion’s disappointment.

“Listen, I am probably not what you pictured,” Loki starts awkwardly, but before he can go on, the other stops and tears form in his eyes.

“Without you, the attack would have easily caused a war,” the other grates, his voice rough. “Jotunheim owes you greatly; I most of all. Already, you fulfilled the legends. So in what direction should you fail to be what I pictured?”

That makes Loki’s stomach flip. “Byleistr?! You are Byleistr,” Loki gasps, but the other does not slow down. If something, he strides quicker, so Loki has to hurry to keep up.

“Now, will you wait!?” Loki hisses. “Just tell me if I am right!”

With that the other stops, and when he gets to him, Loki can see how he presses his eyes shut. “I should apologize, brother,” he admits. “Your fate is my fault. I hope that one day you might be able to forgive me. Because I surely never will.”

The following silence is almost painful.

But of course.

Byleistr had been supporting the Jotun conspirators. Of course he would feel responsible for the attack.

And Angrboda’s death.

Loki desperately bites his lip, wishing he could be sure of Thor’s word. But like this there was no way telling Byleistr that.

“I don’t blame you,” Loki objects softly.

“But you should,” Byleistr counters. “This valley has been used for funerals since the beginning of time,” he says suddenly, changing the topic abruptly and giving Loki no chance to debate. In front of them a slope leads downwards towards the coast.

As he takes a closer look, Loki’s breath halts.

There are hundreds of Jotun gathered on the slope, watching the sea. In a small distance, a glacier descents from the mountainside. Its end vanishes beneath the waves. All other highland glaciers he saw ranged from off-white to grey, but this one is deep blue and sparkles. It looks almost cheesy as if summoned directly from a fairy tale, complete with powdered snow that the highland winds brush over it.

“Ferjujokull, the ferry-glacier,” Byleistr whispers. “The pass-way to the star sphere where the heroes live on.”

“It’s beautiful,” Loki marvels, a throb forming in his throat.

Most of the Jotun are standing in small groups beside the glacier, holding luminescent balls. Only from closer up Loki understands what they are gathered around.

“Boats?”

“Yes,” Byleistr confirms. “They are carved from the glacier.”

In some of the boats, lifeless bodies of Jotun rest, surrounded by weapons made of ice. But many lack bodies and harbor statues made of the same blue glacier ice in their stead. The Aesir had burned the Jotun who fell on Asgard.

“The glacier contains salts. That’s why it’s so blue,” Byleistr explains softly, as they pass mourning families. “Its ice taws quickly as soon as it touches the water, returning the fallen to the sea.”

Loki only hums in response. Being within the crowd of bereaved feels jarring.

“Is there…,” Loki starts but pauses as his voice suddenly sounds like someone else’s. “Is there a boat for Angrboda, too?”

It takes Byleistr long to answer. So long that Loki stares up to him and finds emotions fighting in his brother’s face. “No,” Byleistr declares finally. “Blindi decided to give him the honor of the legends.”

They nearly reach the glacier. From this close it’s truly gigantic, and there must be something luminescent beneath it. The refraction dance asghostly lights over Byleistr’s face. Somehow, the light bends around the carved lines, forming a pattern that could easily be mistaken for a shape. If one looks closer it could totally be a leg, and another part looks stunningly like a spear with even more lines running higher and higher…

Loki gasps and tears well up in his eyes.

“Yes,” Byleistr confirms. “That’s him.”

Reaching more than thrice of his Jotun height, Angrboda’s image is carved into the side of the glacier. He grins defiantly while looking away from the sea and facing the mountains.

“Why is he standing like this?”

  
“The glacier represents life, or fate. One is pressed forward, sometimes in a direction undesired. Angrboda died fighting the fate, and so will his avatar, too. He died, but the fate still bent to his will.”

Before Loki can say anything in return, a long and sad horn rings, sending a shudder down Loki’s back. One after the other, the gathered join in the call, adding their voices to the common lament. Eventually, a crystal clear voice rings over from the mountains. It is singing of days that come and go, of shared moments and memories sacred.

The groups slowly start moving towards the shore to release their boats onto the dark waves. A swift current picks them and quickly carries them away from the coast. The first has nearly left Loki’s sight as a number of small lights appear beneath it, close to the surface. They are only visible for a moment and Loki nearly dismisses them as a mere apparition, but more and more dancing lights appear.

Frowning Loki stares into the dark waters. An enormous jaw adorned with blinking lights opens just beneath one of the small boats and swallows it whole. Loki suppresses an urge to curse.

“O-oh,” Byleistr marvels beside him, clearly in awe. Loki stares at him in disbelief.

“What was _that?_ ”

“That?” Byleistr shrugs. “A clam.”

Loki’s jaw drops.

“They normally don’t grow _this_ big,” he explained, looking amused. “This current separates the bay from the clam herding grounds, so some families started releasing their aged mother clams here. To let them spend their last decades retired in the wild, or as a parting gift for the deceased. In the old days, the clams were believed to keep watch over the sleeping souls of the dead...” He paused. “Well… And this one was surely old. And a true beauty.”

Loki shudders. That was one way to put it. Another would be ‘a glowing nightmare’.

“The lights,” Loki asks. “Is it to attract fish?”

“And fools.”

“Figures.”

The problem with elevated viewpoints is that they are almost always windy. Paired with Jotunheim’s frost ridden cliffs the wind here is excruciating. Not being allowed to complain about it makes it pure hell.

Helblindi must have known how unpleasant the place would be for his Aesir guests. He must also have known that it was below a king to lament about such minor matters. That frozen ass.

And so Thor was doomed to stand with Odin at Helblindi’s side and stare meaningful into the distance. At least there was music and singing. Kind of.

Shivering, Thor stares at the gathered Jotun. Somewhere down there, Loki must be, too. They should have made him stay at the viewpoint. With him being gone, an uneasy silence appeared. Thor swallows a groan, wishing it to be over soon.

A young and clear voice nearby adds to the chorus. Thor searches for its source and quickly spots a youngling standing on the cliff half way between the viewpoint and the crowd.

Helblindi turns towards them, righting his posture slightly. Thor frowns, but Odin doesn’t seem surprised at the slightest.

“Your majesties. Thank you for coming here, even though the reason is dire. Contrary to our expectations, conspirators’ activities did not end as their coup failed,” Helblindi divulges.

Instantly the displeasure of the cold is forgotten.

“What does that mean exactly?” Thor inquires sharply. “I thought you had those responsible punished.”

“We did, your majesty,” Helblindi explains, voice sounding slightly strained. “Additionally we questioned families and friends of those involved to track down conspirators who might have escaped. Alas, it brought nothing. To prevent further incidents, I made sure spellbinders scan the plains for dark elves, since they might try to recruit more of my people for their schemes. The moment we got notice of one appearing on Jotunheim, I wrote to you.”

“Where did they find him?” Thor growls, hand already on Mjolnir’s handle.

“In the eastern plains,” Helblindi explains. “But the elf is long gone now. I sent scouts that found traces of a campsite, already deserted when they arrived. Since then, once more an elf was tracked, but never were we able to learn of his doings.”

Thor huffs. That was annoying, but similar to what happened to him on Asgard. Beside him, Odin hums.

“What do you think?” Odin inquires, and Helblindi tenses.

“I assume Malekith being behind this. It is known that he can travel between realms. He might try to use my people’s hardships to attract them to his cause. If so, he can evade my scouts for years, since the plains are well inhibited and full of hideouts.”

“So you intend to send spies,” Odin assesses.

“Yes.”

“Whom?” Thor asks, and Helblindi freezes before his shoulders slump.

“There are few I trust utterly.” He falters. “And only one I trust and who is shrewd enough to have a chance.”

“Prince Byleistr,” Odin concludes, and Thor blinks in surprise.

“Yes,” Helblindi confirms after a moment.

Odin hums once again. “A courageous choice,” he comments. Below, the chanting subsides and Thor sighs. “Again you show your loyalty, Helblindi. Your good will does not go unnoticed.”

Helblindi only nods shortly and gestures them to follow.

At the feasting hall, Thor remembers something and turns to Helblindi. Frigga was right. Before they even take their seats in at the table, Helblindi hands Thor two hand-sized white crystals. Smiling, Thor runs his fingertips over the smooth surface of the sun stones.  

* * *

As it turns out, there are some similarities between Aesir and Jotun cultures, after all. In both realms a wake after the funeral was indispensable.

In this case it is held in a long, windowless hall of ice, warm enough for Thor to lighten up a bit. Odin, however, remains as grave as always, even though he was granted the place of honor at the head of the front table.

The place on his right was given to Thor, of course, leaving the place on his left to Helblindi. All other guests are seated at two large ‘arms’ extending from the head table in a wide U-form. Thor had insisted on Loki being placed right next to him, causing Helblindi to dangerously narrow his eyes. But Byleistr’s quick decision to join Loki on his other side had defused the rising tension quite quickly.

And so Loki sat there, jammed between the two worlds and marveled at the looks and smells of food he only knew from Angrboda’s tales.

It was overwhelming.

Inside the ‘arms’ of the U-table, a serving cabinet is placed so one could behold the delicacies before ordering. Most of them are all sorts of fish. Fish with red meat, fish with pale meat, fish with green-and-blue meat. Shrimp of different sizes and colors, and something that looks like a deep sea scorpion.

In the center, a large, beautifully curved clam enthroned on a bed of flashing green fibers. Though by far smaller than the one at the bay, it is still at least as wide as Loki’s arm span. The shell is half opened, allowing the view on its pale pink meat.

And it smells so _delicious._

_Yet, it was still an animal,_ Loki reminds himself sharply. But still, traitorous thoughts come up, telling him a clam, lacking a proper brain, is only a little different from a plant.

“You have to try it,” Byleistr encourages from his side. “There is no meat tenderer than clamling’s.”

“A clamling?!” And just like this, the elegant yet lifeless thing suddenly becomes an adorable baby clam, bravely struggling against the harsh environment of Jotunheim’s icy oceans until it is suddenly ripped from its herd to be served with an apple in its mouth. Metaphorically spoken.

“Not today, thanks,” Loki rasps. “Is there, by chance, anything vegetable?”

Byleistr’s stunned expression, combined with Thor’s stifled chuckle, makes Loki blush. Thankfully, Byleistr recovers quickly, throwing a thoughtful glance to the serving cabinet.

“Well, there is Wakame – the green algae which are traditionally served along the clamling. And you can get some Gohan even though it’s not presented at the cabinet. Formerly, it was served to all meals, but it runs low nowadays. It is a sort of white grain porridge. With a rather subtle taste of its own.”

An awkward silence falls after Byleistr’s words, and Loki wishes he had never asked. The servant who just brought Thor’s order, looks questioning at him. He points at the Wakame.

Obediently, the servant piles it on Loki’s plate, showing no trace of judgement. Then he takes the trowel from the pot with the dressing and eyes Loki questioning. Loki frowns and passes the questioning look to Byleistr.

“It doesn’t contain animal products. But take care. It usually takes some time to grow on one.” Byleistr seems to struggle for words, eventually flashing an uneasy smile. “It is _THE_ thing traditionally despised by children.”

“Like broccoli,” Loki grins. “Very well. I take some, but don’t put it over the Wakame,” he adds towards the servant, who is quick to comply. 

The Wakame definitely takes time to grow on one, too, Loki decides after a few bites. It’s not that it’s bad, but without anything along with it, it quickly becomes dull. Eying it doubtfully, Loki dips it in the slimy purple dressing and takes a tiny bite.

At the first moment it tastes like nothing. Just the ‘squishy’ from Wakame. Boring. So he takes another bite and slowly a fine salty flavor unfolds, accompanied by a subtle icy tingle. There is definitely something to it. An addictive taste, yet he can’t put a finger on what it exactly is like. Loki’s mouth starts watering.

He takes a big mouth full of it, barely chewing.

There it is again. Something… _good._ But what? What is it?

He needs _more_.

Two hasty mouthful of heaven later he runs out of dressing. In burst of sudden, unexplainable anger, he gestures for the servant. What was this fool waiting for??! Never has something pained him as much as the slowness of this servant.

Loki is almost hissing in fury, when he finally gets another serving. It is gone almost immediately, which draws a wide-eyed gasp from the unlucky servant.

“ _More_!” Loki demands with all the calmness he can muster. Sending the servant back to the other end of the world, as it seems, to fetch _more dressing_. Why the Hel would waste his time in a moment as crucial as this to exchange helpless looks with Byleistr? Loki feels his blood rush to his ears, hot rage rising in his veins. Suddenly, a hand appears on his shoulder.

“Perhaps you should try a little meat for a change, brother,” Byleistr suggests, his voice sounding dampened as if through thick fog. “As an exception?”

“No,” Loki snaps. “This is just fine! You! Hand me the whole jar. _Please._ ”

Neither Byleistr’s pained smile, nor Thor’s amused chuckles manage to snap Loki out of his newly found obsession for the delicious cream. Why wasn’t this imported to Asgard? The stuff surely has the potential to solve all conflicts by simply being so awesome. By comparison, everything else suddenly seems just petty next to it.

Would it be too much of an affront if he would drink it directly from the pot?

He takes a calculating glance around, finding everyone at the head table staring at him. _Fine_ , he snaps at them in his thoughts and puts a gracious portion on his plate, daring them with a defying glare to step between him and his precious cream.

So nice, so sweet, so delicious! Nothing like those nasty shrimps on Hellblindi’s plate. They not only smell weird, but also apparently cause him some sort of headache, judging from him rubbing his temples.

Did Odin’s lips just twitch? Thor is smiling broadly, even though he tries to hide it behind a crystal goblet of vine. Too bad the goblet is entirely transparent, Loki thinks rebelliously.

Much too soon the jar is empty, causing grave desperation to well up in Loki. What was this Hel? He needs _MORE_! At least the servant has gained some sensibility since he approaches instantly.

“Is there maybe more of this?” Loki asks desperately. Oh please let them have _more_!

“I shall...” the servant starts, when Helblindi’s calm, yet determined, “I am afraid not, brother,” cuts in and makes the servant stop dead in his tracks. A sting goes through Loki. They had _no more_?!? He barely manages to contain himself, feeling tears rising in his eyes.

Thor’s expression darkens instantly, but his glare towards Helblindi doesn’t make it past Odin, whose lips are _definitely_ curled now.  


“Shame,” the Allfather muses, whirling the liquor in his goblet thus making the ice cubes ping. “Shame.”

“Don’t be sad, Loki,” Byleister tries to appease him. “It’s not good to have too much Flurn at a time.”

Loki’s breath halts. “That was _Flurn_?!”

Oh, shit. He feels the heat rising in his cheeks, wishing he could curl up and die.

…

Angrboda, of course, has told him about Flurn. And how could Helblindi serve it at an occasion like this, without warning him!?

Flurn is produced by phytoplankton and harvested from the surface. It contains specific nutrients otherwise rare in most Jotunheim food. Being so important for growth, most children would get it as a supplement, even though it tastes so poorly to them. 

Some adults don’t like it either, but get used to eating it anyways for the health benefits it offers. There is just one time when it should not be taken. During pregnancy, since an excess could be detrimental to the health of the unborn. It was probably due to this fact that most Jotun would develop an enormous craving for it _before_ they would get pregnant.

A craving commonly triggered by the proximity of a chosen mate.

“A shame that Angrboda could not get any Flurn on Asgard. You must have developed an enormous lack of it,” Helblindi announces, a little too loud. Byleistr hastily nods in agreement.

“Certainly,” Odin consents dryly, and Thor hums, smugly. “Such a shame.”

* * *

It is long past midnight when the Harem’s doors fall closed behind Loki, freeing him from the strain of having to hide his true feelings.

He shivers.

It’s like Odin’s grin would still haunt him. The memory alone makes Loki’s skin crawl. If there was one single good thing about being out of the competition, then it was that he would probably never have to suffer Odin’s company, again.

Weird, how different Thor was from his father. Or would he slowly become just like him as the centuries pass?

A shudder runs over Loki. No, there was goodness in Thor, a pure naivety which Odin could never have had. Hopefully the harsh practice of reigning would not take that from him.

Whatever the reign would make with Thor, Loki would not have any say in it.

He would stand and take what Thor would grant him and his people, while others, most likely less gracious people, would try to stir Thor’s reason. The thought tastes bitter. Of course, this was just like it would have been if Loki had never come to the Harem and never tasted the sweet experience of being involved, so he could explain his views to Thor. Just as if he had stayed at Angrboda’s house at the east market until the time was ripe to return to Jotunheim.

But now? Now, he dreamed about helping his people. To lose this chance was more painful than to never have known about the possibility. He had been so close! Tears well up in his eyes. He could have done it. And now he has got nothing. Neither Angrboda, nor Thor. Hot tears run over his cheeks as he climbs the stairs to the dorm shrouded in utter darkness.

_No, suffering Odin’s presence would have been a little price to pay_ , he scolds himself, while plunging into his chamber nearly ready to fall into his sheets.

Nearly, because he spots the shape of someone lying there in the very last second.

Too late to abort his movement entirely. Instead of falling straight on the intruder, he hits the shins on the bed and nearly twists a wrist in the attempt to catch himself. And so lands on the bed, crouching on all fours, awkwardly hovering above the other person.  

From between his arms, a half-wake Sigyn squints up to him.

“Oh, hi,” she breathes, rubbing her eyes.

“Sigyn!” he gasps. “What are _you_ doing here?”  In sudden fear he might have confused the rooms, he snaps his head around. No, thank goodness. It indeed is _his_ room. “This is _my_ bed!” snaps at her.

“I know!” she fumes, sitting up. “I was waiting for you, because you might be upset when you come back, but it got so incredibly late and in my room I might have missed your return, but then it got even later and I thought you wouldn’t mind me sitting down a bit while waiting, and then sitting was exhausting, too…”

“Ok-ok,” Loki admits quickly as the first shock has passed and the hurt in her eyes starts adding to the uproar of his own feelings. “I am sorry. Thank you for waiting for me!” He rubs her back, smoothing the wrinkles her nap has caused to her tunic.

“And I was right,” she claims sulkily. He stares at her in surprise, causing her to trace the wet line on cheek. Oh, yeah. Right.

“Noo, no,” he objects, annoyed, wiping his face with his arm. “It was ok. Like really ok. I met my other brother, actually!”

She stares at him doubtful. “And what was he like?”

Loki pulls his shoulders up. “Actually a little taciturn. But he blames himself for some of the things that happened, so he might be different in other circumstances. The memorial was… touching. Sad, but beautiful. The wake was …” he shudders, “… memorable. I think I shall cherish our food here more, now. All summed up, I am glad I was there. And most of the time I wasn’t even close to … the kings.”

Sigyn stares at him with suspicion.

“Then why the tears?”

“Really? I was at a _funeral_! Crying at a funeral? Oh yes, how _very_ suspicious!”

“You are not fooling me.”

He groans, letting himself fall on the sheets, one arm covering his eyes. But the silence stretches until he cannot bear it any longer.

“I just had a stupid thought.”

“Hm.”

“About how I wished to show _him_ another perspective. So long I thought there was no way for him to understand what Odin did to us all those years, but then we talked about the casualties in the vault and he just…”

Again, angry tears well up in his eyes, and Loki clenches his fist.

“…he just understood! And he actually did something! There is no reason for him to treat my people so poorly! He is a good man. He could have learned it! And perhaps he would even have been grateful on the inside!”

The pain becomes too strong to remain lying, so Loki jumps to his feet and starts pacing, both fists clenched so hard the nails bite into his flesh.

“But now? Now he will listen to people like TYR! And Odin! And whoever replaces those two conspiring councilmen, and they will slowly mend his thinking until he sees us as nothing more than monsters. Just as they do!”

Loki whirls around to Sigyn, just to find her biting her lip in obvious uncertainty.

“What?” he snaps. “You don’t think I could have done it?!”

“Of course not!” she objects quickly, before lowering her gaze. “Of course you would. But for that you would have had to live in the middle of this people, one worse than the other.”

His lips twitch at her unveiled contempt. “Yes, even by Asgardian standards,” she adds spikily, before continuing. “That might have destroyed you! It might have turned you bitter and killed all your innocence.”

“That would have been worth it!”

“How can you _say_ that?!” she gasps. “After what he did to you! To do that to your …” She breaks off, before actually saying it, but it’s clear what she means. He can hear it in his mind.

_After he killed Angrboda._

It still stings. But yet, it also invokes another sentiment.

Loki draws a pained breath, pressing his eyes shut. He shouldn’t say it. He most definitely should not. And yet… He learned that telling Sigyn has often enough helped clearing his thoughts. And right now his inner turmoil was getting out of hand, worsening each time the topic came up.

He stares at his hands, opening and closing them helplessly, but Sigyn’s unrelenting frown follows him.

“I am not so sure anymore,” he breathes, just as she opens her mouth. It makes her close it again, only to open and close it once more with a confused head shake.

“What?”

“I am not so sure Thor killed Angrboda, any longer,” Loki repeats, wringing his hands until he notices himself doing it. Then he lets his hands drop, forcing himself to meet her gaze. It is a little bit more than utterly confused.

“What?”

“I am not sure…”

“No. I understood that part now. I mean _why?_ ”

He swallows, his nerves nearly failing him. This was going to sound so stupid. So heart wrenchingly naïve and dumb. “Thor said he didn’t,” Loki whispers, pressing his eyes shut.

“WHAT!?” she exclaims. “What an accursed …” The rest of her sentence sounds as if it’s swallowed despite the vicious effort of the words to wriggle out of her throat.

Full of despair, Loki slumps on the bed beside her, burying his face in his hands. “I know that it’s stupid and that I can’t trust his words! I know, ok?!” He draws a strained breath, sounding as if he was about to sob. “That’s what I tell myself the whole time! But _why_  would he claim to have Angrboda spared if it wasn’t true? There is nothing he could gain from it!”

That at least seems to startle the anger out of Sigyn. When he looks at her again, she frowns while staring at him. “But you saw him doing it, didn’t you?”

“Yes… but Thor said he were only unconscious and I was to … too shocked and too far away to see.” He curses. “When I try to remember I think he might still have breathed, but how can I be sure? He said it two times already! I can’t imagine what he could gain from deceiving me.”

She hums doubtfully. “Perhaps he wants you to trust him again?”

“But why? He has me here already. If he want me to do something, he can simply threaten Jotunheim or my brothers and I would have to comply. There is literally nothing he couldn’t force out of me.”

“Ok, fine. If he’s telling the truth. Why won’t he prove it?”

“EXCATLY!” Loki almost cries with the sudden urge to hug her. “It’s making no sense. He vowed to prove it, and then didn’t make good on it. It must be a lie.”

But somehow, her expression grows uncertain, even though she nods slightly. “But that is a good thing. I mean that he vowed. You only need to wait if he stands to his word. As long as he doesn’t, you just continue doing what you do now.”

And with one blow his new found anger-fueled strength deflates.

“You believe it?!” he asks incredulously.

“Hey, _you_ made all the valid points, ok? Don’t blame me for listening,” she retorts. “Also, I didn’t say that. I said you can find out by simply waiting. That’s a difference, so stop pouting and let’s go.”

“Fine…” he grumbles and pouts just a tiny bit more, before letting himself fall back onto the bed, until the last part of her sentence makes it to his brain. “Wait – go where?”

“Ah, breakfast I’d say?” she states, grinning wickedly. “Or do you prefer to feast among the masses today?”

“What?!” He stares out of the window in shock.  The dawn is already brightening the sky. “How… why... ah, come on...” But it was undeniably morning, so he gathers himself and scuffles after her, giving his bed a longing gaze.

In fact, they do have to feast among the masses. When they reach the kitchen, most of the girls are already gathered there, throwing them sullen glances. But it stays bearable until halfway through the meal.

Then Lorelei and Amora join them at their table. And while Amora holds up her now common aura of aloofness, Lorelei seems nearly sparkling with mischievous energy. Smiling smugly, she lets herself fall into the chair opposite to Sigyn, and a dark anticipation overcomes Loki.

“Hey, Balder?” Lorelei calls cheerful, her eyes looked on Sigyn. “What will happen with Loki after Thor is married?”

At once, silence falls in the room and all eyes zero in on them. Loki freezes. Slowly, he puts down his bread and tries to appear unmoved. Skadi’s displeasure is so strong it nearly becomes substantial.

“Well, that is on the king to decide,” Balder answers carefully.

“Yea, I know. But what do you _think_ ,” Lorelei quips.

“He won’t let me go, if it’s that what you fear,” Loki hisses. What kind of scheme was that now? And why? It wasn’t like he was a threat to anyone here anymore. But his anger only seems to delight Lorelei further.

“Ah, perfect! I thought so. He appreciates your advice, right?” she exclaims. “And rumors tell he also defended your title in front of the council!” She nearly claps her hands in excitement.

“So?” Loki snaps. “I’m out of the contest, or did you already forget?”

She beams at him as if he just defended her case. “Exactly!” she breathes. “So that means after the contest, you will stay in the palace, officially confirmed as a prince of a vassal-realm.”

Loki can only stare at her in confusion. He just wants to ask her what her point is, as he realizes Sigyn is clenching her knife so strong her fingers grow white from the pressure. He flinches back, as his eyes fall on Sigyn. She glares at Lorelei in unrestrained fury. But why…

“What…” he starts, but instantly Sigyn’s ire focuses on him.

“Are you dumb?” she hisses, tears in her eyes.

“I… ehm… why don’t you simply explain?” he stutters, retreating from the hurt in her eyes. Beside him, Lorelei chuckles.

“She means you are a good catch,” Sigyn hisses, throwing her last piece of apple to her plate and pushes her chair back. “And now she will make them all compete for you as the second prize.”

It takes a moment for him to process. Then he laughs. He’s the only one in the room, but that doesn’t diminish it. Sigyn, now risen, stands beside him and gaps at him. Eventually, when he can breathe again, he adds, “Now that was a good one. As if anyone here would actually consider a monster for a spouse.” He shakes his head, still giggling softly.

Utter silence answers him.

Sigyn is still staring at him, equally shaking her head silently, a hurt look in her eyes. As if _he_ had been the one to hurt her.

Oh snap.

“Ok,” Loki allows, “you perhaps. But you are honestly the most rational person I know besides Angrboda and myself.”

“But everyone else…” He gestures towards Lorelei and Amore who keep staring at him with expressions of amused patience.

Only amused patience.

No disgust.

An uneasy feeling grows in his stomach and his eyes jump to the other youth. One girl bites her lip and snaps her eyes away, blushing fiercely. Actually, most of them avoid his gaze, blush or glare back defiantly.

Some stare at Sigyn with unveiled contempt.

He laughs again, yet this time it sounds strained and thin, even to his own ears. “That’s ridiculous.”

“Actually, that is quite rational,” Amora states dryly. “Your status as well as your personal history would grant you a place in the palace. And surely this would extend to your potential wife, ensuring a good life without any work and as a part of the nobility. You should consider it - having an Aesir wife would not only help your reputation, but would also set a positive example and therefore support your efforts for peace. Or don’t you want that anymore?”

At a loss for words, he stares at her.

“Let’s go,” Sigyn sniffs beside him, pulling his sleeve.

“Oh, one more thing,” Lorelei cheers. “Is Sigyn allowed to spend her nights in Loki’s room? Because she did so like twice already!”

“WHAT?!” Skadi and Balder shout simultaneously.


End file.
